THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


&*3 


>  \ 


TO 

LOTTIE  BELLE, 

OWN  AND  ONLY  CHILD, 
THIS  BOOK  IS  AFFECTION  A  TELY  DEDICA  TED 


Rose  de  Tour, 

San  Diego,  Cal.,  7907 


ALBERT  MATSON 

(1872) 


SHORT  POEMS 


AND 


SWEET  SONGS 


BY 

ALBERT  MATSON 


San  Diego,  California 

Press  of  Frye  &  Smith 

1907 


fl  Glimpse  of  War. 


PRELUDE. 

The  race  is  one,  one  brotherhood; 
And  God  is  one,  one  fatherhood: 
"Tis  war  time  still;  millen'ial  light 
Must  yet  dispel  the  shades  of  night. 
God  oft  his  plans  in  myst'ry  shrouds; 
His  face  oft  hides  behind  dark  clouds; 
In  part  his  plans  are  understood: 
— One  fatherhood,  one  brotherhood. 


Spots  on  the  sun  may  be  explained; 
And,  so,  why  truth  is  strongly  chained 
With  error,  still.     Those  chains  shall  fall. 
Soul  liberty  's  proclaimed  for  all; 


611111 

UBRAiT 


8  A  GLIMPSE  OF  WAR. 

(Through  faith  in  an  Almighty  One, 
The  "  Prince  of  Peace,"  the  Christ,  the  Son). 
Resultant  reformations  will 
Abound,  and  th'  ages  traverse,  still. 


The  dom'nant  seventh  of  some  new  key 
E'er  means  transition;  such  must  be; 
As  might  a  comet,  that  could  take 
A  world  of  worlds,  new  systems  make; 
The  Morning  Star  change  contemplates; 
Midst  death-damp  darkness,  light  creates; 
It  means  triumphant  conquest;  aye, 
It  means  completeness  by  and  by. 


Religion  is  a  life  in  line 

Of  effort, — lives  "Thy  will,  not  mine": 

(And  such  a  life-like  fitness  has 

To  th'  mustard  seed,  or  th'  blade  of  grass, 


A  GIvIMPSE  OF  WAR.  9 

Its  mission  to  perform). — Here's  strife; 
— Men  e'er  intol'rant  are  of  th'  life 
From  which  they've  been  reformed.  Light  lives. 
Thus  darkness  yields. 


God  lives.     The  times  momentous  are; 
They?wrt/  conflict,  near  or  far, 
The  world  anticipates  to-day: 
Columbia  may  lead  the  way, 
And  gloriously.     God  grant  she  may  ! — 
The  way  to  bright  millen'ial  day! 
Columbia! — what  e'er  th'  affray, — 
The  voice  of  God  hear,  and  obey! 


Columbia  for  freedom  stood; — 

For  human  rights  and  brotherhood; 

But,  ah!  (What  could  the  reason  be?) 

A  part  were  bound,  though  most  were  free! 


10  A  GLIMPSE  OF  WAR. 

And  th'  Christian  nations  laughed  to  scorn 
The  land  where  Washington  was  born; 
And  prophesied  that,  with  that  blot, 
Would  rest  th'  avengeful  curse  of  God. 


For  many  years  that  blot  spread  o'er; 
Each  day  spread  darker  than  before; 
For  many  years  the  lines  were  drawn; 
At  last  the  struggle,  fierce,  came  on: 
And  th'  nations,  looking  on  from  far, 
Beheld  the  carnage,  civil  war:* 
And  Lincoln  stood  for  liberty; — 
And  bond-men  were  no  more,  but  free. 


'Round  Petersburg  Grant's  lines  are  drawn; 

The  day  decisive  hastens  on; 

A  cordon  strong,  those  lines  they  keep, 

While  th'  war-gods  wait,  and  th'  war-dogs 
sleep: 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  WAR.  11 

The  Nation  longs,  with  boding  fear, 
For  th'  news  of  th'  battle  drawing  near; 
The  Gray  must  break  that  cordon  now, 
Submissive,  else,  to  fate  to  bow. 


The  Blue,  with  great  expectancy, 
Prepare  to  test  the  potency 
Of  war's  dread  argument;  prepare 
To  do  what  man  can  do;  to  dare 
What  man  can  dare;  prepare  to  die, 
If  die  they  must,  without  a  sigh; — 
To  suffer  worse  than  death,  might  be; 
— For  Country  calls.          *          *          * 


The  Captair/s  Color  Capture. 


The  night  was  dark,  and  dismal,  too; 

Some  stars  the  hov'ring  mists  shone  through; 

The  moon  was  hid,  some  hours  agone, 

And  now  the  fog-chilled  morn  came  on; 

Upon  their  arms  battalions  slept, 

On  vantage  ground  to  which  they'd  crept 

Almost  the  Union  lines  upon; 

And  only  waited  signs  of  dawn. 


But  'twas  a  troubled  sleep  they  slept; 
Some  waking  vet'rans  prayed  and  wept, 
And,  with  intense  emotion,  sobbed 
And  thought  of  home  and  loved  ones  robbed 


A   GLIMPSE  OF  WAR.  13 

Of  all  they  held,  of  earth,  most  dear, 
Should  they,  in  battle's  slaughter  near, 
Be  gathered  in.     But  most  sweet  slept, 
And  dreamed  of  loved  ones;  dreamed  they 
wept! 

"Move  on!" — a  low  and  whispered  call; 
Then  prompt  command  in  line  to  fall; 
With  stiffened  limbs,  and  straining  eyes, 
They  rouse  each  other;  sudden  rise; 
Firm  grasp  their  arms,  and  look  away, 
And  wait  the  coming  of  th'  affray; 
The  gray  of  dawn  they  faint  descry, 
Now  creeping  up  the  eastern  sky. 

"Move  on!" — Brave  Hagood  leads  the  way; 

No  braver  e'er,  in  such  affray, 

Drew  sword.     Trained  war  horse  rides,  well 

bred; 
"Move  on!" — with  sword  raised  high  o'er 

head; 


14  A   GLIMPSE  OP  WAR. 

"Move  on.'" — "We'll  win  to-day,  or  die!" 
—"Aye,  'win  or  die,'  the  battle  cry!" 
He'll  lead  them  on,  though  hope  be  gone 
For  e'er.— And  Hagood's  men  move  on. 


The  battle's  on.     O  heavens!     O  earth! 
Is  liberty  of  so  much  worth? — 
That  brethren  should  each  other's  blood 
So  fiercely  seek  to  shed?    O  God! 
Shall  loyalty  new  strength  acquire 
By  baptism  such,  of  blood  and  fire? 
Does  th'  cause  of  human  freedom  lead 
To  carnage  such?     Is  such  its  need? 


As  ends  this  morning's  battle,  fierce, 
So  ends  the  Nation's  struggle,  years 
Prolonged,  and  millions  slain,  while  God 
Has  kept  the  Nation  'neath  the  rod. 


A   GUMPSE  OF  WAR.  15 

"Oh,  lift  the  rod!"    Columbia  cries; 
" Accept,  our  God,  our  sacrifice!" 
Before  this  morning-'s  songsters  sing1, 
Behold  a  Nation's  offering! 


But  weep,  O  North!  and  weep,  O  South! 
For  th'  slain  this  morn  at  th'  cannon's  mouth ! 
From  th'  northern  Lakes  that  we  love  so  well, 
To  th'  southern  Gulf,  this  slaug-hter  tell; 
Of  daring  deeds  of  bravest  men; 
Of  valor  great  as  mortals  ken. 
Aye,  weep  Columbia!  for  the  brave 
Who  find  this  day  a  soldier's  grave. 


"•Move  on!" — The  drums  beat  loud; 
The  sun  shines  out  o'er  th'  fog-built  cloud; 
They  pass  ravine,  and  ridge,  and  mound, 
And  halt  in  line  on  level  ground. 


16  A  GLIMPSE  OF  WAR. 

But  why  this  sudden  stand? — So  near? 
And  why  this  wavering-,  and  fear? 
What  signal,  this,  to  those  behind? 
— A  moat,  with  water  filled,  they  find! 


In  energy  of  deep  despair, 
One  hopeless  round  each  seeks  to  share; 
And,  such  foreboding  fills  each  breast, 
Each  feels  the  horror  of  the  rest. 
They  can  not  move, — except  they  fly; 
— Surrender?  standing  there?  or  die? 
— For  flanking  columns,  pressing  hard, 
Already  claim  the  blood-soaked  sward. 


Scores,  wounded,  fall;  scores  fall  to  die; 
There's  no  escape;  no  succor  nigh; 
Pale  heroes,  vanquished,  silent  stand, 
Midst  carnage  dire  on  every  hand. 


A   GLIMPSE   OF   WAR.  17 

Unhorsed,  their  brave  commander  falls; 
"Haste!"  "Haste!"  "a  horse!"  he  loudly  calls. 
They  heed  him  not.     Ah!  'tis  too  late! 
Brave  leader!     Such  thy  cruel  fate! 


The  show'r  of  shot  and  shell  pours  on, 
As  if  it  had  but  just  begun: 
— He  is  not  dead!     Brave  Hagood,  still, 
On  foot,  fights  on;  for  fight  he  will! 
— Ah!  this  day's  doings,  who  can  tell? 
— But  now  comes  o'er  the  hosts  a  spell 
As  ne'er,  (in  conflicts  such),  ne'er  fell 
Before.     Ah,  me! — to  tell  the  story  well! 


From  a  sheltered  spot  a  horseman  rides; 
As  if  ignoring  all  besides, 
The  intervening  space  trots  o'er, 
And  halts  the  center-point  before! 


18  A  GUMPSE  OF  WAR. 

Of  noble  bearing,  youthful,  tall, 
Firm  seated,  calm  and  fearless,  all; 
Raised  high  o'er  head,  his  saber  glares; 
A  captain's  uniform  he  wears; 


And  to  the  color-bearer,  thus; 

1 '  Your  colors,  man ! "     "To  me!"  "To  us! ' ' 

Amazed,  the  color-bearer  stands; 

Tight  grasps  the  staff  with  both  his  hands; 

He  knows  not  what  he  does;  he  yields! 

Strange  pow'r  that  reckless  rider  wields! 

What  war  god  he,  such  deed  has  done? 

— He  grasps  the  banner!  now  he's  gone! 


But  Hagood  sees  that  banner  lift, 
Unfurl'd,  and  placed  on  pummel;  swift 
He  runs,  and  Bailey's  bridle  grasps; 
Brave  Bailey  firm  the  banner  clasps; 


A   GUMPSE   OF  WAR.  19 

"Give  me  that  flag!  and  you  shall  live! 
A  thousand  lives  for  that  I'd  give! 
An  instant's  pause,  and  you  shall  die! 
Not  you  shall  wave  that  flag,  but  //" 


— "And  now  conies  who?    Who  may  he  be 
That  now  should  take  this  flag  from  me!" 
— "Commander  of  these  men  am  I; 
Return  that  flag,  I  say,  or  die!'1'' 
— "But  look  you,  Gen'ral,  look  you  there! 
See!  our  battalions,  everywhere! 
Surrender,  you,  and  these,  to  me! 
Or  gulfed  in  death  be,  utterly!" 


See!  scores  of  rifles  leveled,  now, 
At  Bailey's  bare,  defiant  brow; 
And  Hagood's  pistol  at  his  breast; 
Battalions  hurrying  from  the  west : 


20  A   GUMPSE  OF   WAR. 

"Once  more,  sir!  will  you •?"  "Never!"  "No!" 

"For  this  I  came!  with  this  I  go!" 

And  *Bailey  falls.  *  *  *  * 


See!  Hagood  mounts  the  captured  steed; 
Of  him  he  has  the  greatest  need; 
As  if  t'  avenge  his  master's  fate, 
The  maddened  horse,  at  fearful  rate, 
The  field  now  flees, — nay,  falls! — and,  as 
He  falls,  brains  out  a  surgeon  on  the  grass. 
—And  jHagood  falls. 
****** 

A  thousand  lives  that  flag  has  cost, 
Of  those  who  knew  the  battle  lost : 
Surrender?    Those  battalions?    No! 
See  line  on  line  a-reeling  go! 

*Capt.  Jas.  Bailey,  4th  la.  Vol.  Infly. 
tGen.  Johnston  Hagood,  S.  C. 


A   GLIMPSE  OF   WAR.  21 

See!  heaps  on  heaps  of  th'  vanquished;  slain; 

Among  the  trees;  all  o'er  the  plain: 

— "Retreat!"  "Retreat!"  is  sounded  now: 

— Retreat? — Heav'n  help!  for,  whither?  how? 


Ah,  deadlier  the  struggle  now! 
The  ricochet-dog's  spewings  plow 
L/ike  dynamite  by  demons  flung 
Promiscuously  all  among; 
Battalions,  hastening,  onward  go; 
Quick  join  in  battle  with  the  foe; 
Such  din  the  stoutest  heart  appalls; 
— A  shaft  of  fork-ed  lightning  falls; 


A  furious  storm  bursts  on  th'  affray; 
The  heavn'ns,  with  jangling  loudness,  play 
Accomp'niment  of  thunders;  rain, 
In  sheeted  torrents,  pours,  the  stain 


22  A   GLIMPSE   OF   WAR. 

Of  blood,  in  part,  to  wash  away; 
And  fever,  born  of  wounds,  to  stay; 
The  trench,  with  water  fill'd,  is  red 
With  blood  of  fallen  patriots  shed. 


Ravines,  now  angered  in  their  course, 
The  clotted  blood  wash  from  their  shores; 

And  th'  show'rs  of  shot,  and  th'  show's  of 
shell, 

And  th'  show'rs  of  wind,  and  rain,  and  hail, 
Join,  in  an  awful  mockery, 
To  drown  the  wail  of  agxmy: 

— And  Heaven  frowns.  *  * 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 


The  storm,  slow  moving-  on,  has  passed; 
And,  one  by  one,  are  hushed,  at  last, 
The  hounds  of  war:  war-horses  feed 
In  quiet  herd;  or  neighs  some  steed 


A   GLIMPSE  OF  WAR.  23 

Companionless;  the  spoils  of  war, 

O'er  th'  wide  expanse,  thick  scattered  are; 

The  cries  of  pain  cease  not;  and  not 

The  moans,  and  groans,  and  prayers  to  God. 


The  wounded  wait  for  succor;  slow 

The  freighted  ambulances  go, 

To  seek  the  living;  numbered  not 

The  dead,  until  tomorrow;  hot 

The  sun  o'erhead;  clouds  cleared  away; 

lyight  breezes  fan; — declines  the  day: 

— And  Heaven  smiles.  *  * 


And   'round  the    world    trained  light'ning 

goes, 

And  soon  the  news  each  cont'n't  knows 
Of  vict'ry  gained  for  th'  Union  cause; 
From  th'  Union  lines  rise  loud  huzzas, 


24  A   GLIMPSE   OF   WAR. 

As  tramping-,  tramping-,  tramping,  tramp, 
The  victors  come  again  to  camp; 
"Hurrah!"  "Hurrah!" — in  loud  refrain; 
"Hurrah!"  "Hurrah!"  again  and  again. 


A  cordon  yet.     Now  silence  falls; 
Low,  picket  "halt!"  to  picket  calls; 
Bright  moon  and  stars  appear;  a  breeze 

Moves  gently   th'  leaves  of  th'  sheltering 
trees; 

A  neighb'ring  Freed-man  plays  his  flute, 
And  prays;  the  turtle-dove  his  mute 
Companion  calls.  *  *  * 


A   GUMPSE   OF   WAR.  25 

Now,  *peace:  many  years  have  passed  since 
they 

That  wore  the  blue,  or  wore  the  gray, 

Joined  battle  on  that  notable  day; 

And,  mostly,  they  have  passed  away. 

But  some  remain,  and  love  to  tell 

The  story  they  remember  well; — 

"The  Captain's  Color  Capture."     Peace 

Profound  e'er  glad'ns  the  hearts  of  these. 


New  prestige,  e'er,  Columbia  gains; 
It  matters  not  what  blood  the  veins 
Of  patriots  courses  now;  the  home 
Of  freedom,  till  th'  millennium, 
Oh,  may  it  be!  God  bless  our  land! 
The  children  of  those  vet'rans  stand 
One  common  altar  'round,  and  sing, 
To-day,  of  war-time's  offering. 

*  After  30  years. 


26  A   GLIMPSE  OF  WAR. 

— "Honor  to  whom  it  doth  belong-;" 
— And  joyful  raise  her  "glory"  song-, 
While  loud  they  exalt  Columbia's  fame, 
— "A  Gloria  Ad  Gloriam, 
O  Columbia?* 


SONG.* 

Hark!  the  voice  of  th'  ages,  telling 

Us,  from  glory,  on,  to  go; 

Songs  of  God-giv'n  greatness,  swelling, 

Tell  of  glory  yet  to  know: 

On,  Columbia!    Heav'n  blest  nation! 

Heed  thy  mission!     Know  thy  goal! 

On!  from  high  to  higher  station, 

While  the  centuries  shall  roll. 

*  "A  Gloria  Ad  Gloriam,  O  Columbia,"— Sheet  Music; 
— Song  and  Chorus  with  piano  and  horn  accompaniment. 
Also  arranged  as  a  four-part  Hymn-Tune. 

ALBERT  MATSON,  Rose  De  Tour,  San  Diego,  Cal. 


A   GLIMPSE  OF   WAR.  27 

Nations  wait  with  expectation, 
Wond'ring  what  thy  fate  shall  be; 
Prophecy,  of  brightest  vision, 
Ivook  to  find  fulfill'd  in  thee; 
Since  thy  God  from  tyrants  saved  thee, 
And  yon  flag-  was  lifted  up, 
Millions  bless  that  banner  daily, 
Yea,  they  hail  thee  as  their  hope. 


There's  a  rare  and  wond'rous  flow'r, 
Blooming  red,  and  white,  and  blue; 
Petals  white  at  morning  hour, 
Though  by  night  a  bluish  hue; 
When,  at  noon,  its  perfume  sateth, 
Then,  behold,  that  flow'r  is  red! 
Heed  the  flower!  glory  waiteth 
Till  thy  sun  shines  high  o'erhead! 


28  A   GUMPSE  OF  WAR. 

Freedom's  day  is  still  its  morning; 
Shadows  still  its  skies  o'ercast; 
Bright,  the  zenith  yet  adorning, 
Gleam  some  stars  of  th'  night  o'erpast; 
But  the  skies  are  growing  brighter, 
And  the  warmth  and  glow  we  feel; 
And  the  hearts  of  men  are  lighter, 
As  they  escape  the  tyrant's  heel. 


On!  the  world  thy  glory  knoweth! 
On!  the  hope  of  freedom,  thou! 
On!  till,  where  thy  banner  goeth, 
Men  no  more  to  tyrants  bow! 
On!  thou  child  of  love's  enthronement! 
On!  thou  pledge  of  weal  to  men! 
On!  thou  promise  of  th'  at-onement 
Earth  shall  find  with  Heav'n  again! 


A   GUMPSE   OF  WAR.  29 

On!  thy  mission  is  decretal! 
On!  to  th'  banishment  of  wrong! 
On!  till  righteousness  and  peace  shall 
Kiss,  and  then  burst  forth  in  song! 
On!  to  nobler,  grander,  station! 
On!  till  Heav'n  shall  spare  the  rod! 
On!  till  th'  glory  of  the  nation 
Is  the  glory  of  our  God! 


Sleep?,  Colombia 


Does  the  clay  prophetic  hasten, 

When  Columbia  shall  be  free 
From  the  curse,  that  curse  of  curses, 

Foremost  foe  of  liberty  ? 
Foe  of  home  and  happiness  ? 

Foe  of  human  weal  what  e'er? 
Foe  of  truth  and  righteousness  ? 

— Sin!  ah!  shame  her  people  share! 


Sleeps,  Columbia! — troiibled  slumber! 

Anaesthetics  Hell-prepared! 
What  compassion!  and  what  mercy! 

— God  has  still  the  nation  spared! 
Conscience  stilled! — but  not  forever! 

Sleeps! — the  sleep  of  th'  narcotized! 
God,  Himself,  will  yet  arouse  her, 

Conscience  no  whit  minimized. 


32  SLEEPS,    COLUMBIA 

Rouse,  Columbia!  shame,  pollution, 

Awful  sin,  thy  people  share; 
Rum's  far-reaching  rule  and  min 

Blight  this  Heav'n  blessed  land  and  fair: 
Rouse,  O  slowly  waking  nation. 

Rouse,  for  God  calls;  conscience,  right; 
Rouse,  escape  thy  guilty  slumbering. 

Rouse,  let  in  Heav'n's  holy  light! 


ififif 


Elfelfa. 


Have  the  poets  e'er  sung  of  "  Old  Baldy," 
the  mount, 

Standing  forth  in  his  majesty,  there  ? 

And  do  parents,  at  night,  to  their  children, 
recount 

What  the  "  Legends  of  Baldy  "  declare  ? 

— When,  from  far,  'mong  the  trees,  near  some 
rivulet's  fount, 

Sounds  they  hear  ? — tones  of  seeming  des 
pair  ? 

—And  the  cry,  "Elfelfa, !  "  "Elfelfa  !  " 

Sad,  the  story  they  tell;  and  it  strange  may 

appear; 

But  the  Padres  all  knew,  in  their  day, 
'Mongst  the  boulders  of  "  Baldy,"  as  evening 

drew  near, 

Were  wild  children  oft  seen  in  their  play; 
But  in   silence  alway  ;    though   it   was   not 

from  fear: 

When  surprised,  ne'er  one  word  did  they  say, 
Save  this  one,  "Elfelfa  !  "  Elfelfa  !  " 


34 

Far  away,  in  Old  Mexico's  opulent  town, 
In  the  days  of  magnificence,  old, 
Lived  a  beautiful  maiden  of  envied  renown, 
Whom,  a  keeper  of  jewels  and  gold, 
Montezuma   had  made,  and  an  heir  to  the 

crown: 

-'Tis  of  her  the  sad  story  is  told; 
—How  they  cry,  "Elfelfa!  "  "Elfelfa!  " 


— Thus:  the  king  thought  his  niece's  affec 
tions  to  guide; 

And  he  frowned  her  young  chieftain  upon; 

But  Haallya  bold  into  the  court-way  did  ride, 

His  Elfelfa  he  seized,  and  was  gone: 

Far  away  in  "  Old  Baldy's  "  dread  heights 
they.will  hide: 

She  is  gone,  the  bright,  beautiful  one; 

And  they  mourn,  "Elfelfa  !  "  "Elfelfa  !  " 


35 


Through  the  valleys,  o'er  mesas,  o'er  mountains 

they  flee, 

Halting  not,  till  they  reach  El  Cajon; 
There,  brief  resting,  lest  hast'ning  pursuers 

might  be 

Planning  well,  —  should  their  covert  be  shown; 
Fast  they  flee;  till,  afar,  their  sought  fastness 

they  see; 

To  all,  save  Haallya,  yet  unknown; 
—Where  they  cry,  "Elf  elf  a!"   "El/el/a/" 


But,  arriving,  at  length,  'mong  those  cumulose 

hills, 

Jagged  slopes,  and  deep  canons,  high  walled, 
— Hark!  what  ominous  sounds!  what  strange 

luridness  fills 

All  the  air,  till  their  hearts  are  appalled! 
—  "Should  I  fall,"  said  the  chief,  "e'er  this 

fierce  quaking  stills, 
Press  thou  on;  ride  thee,  far; — till  thou'rt 

called 
By  thy  name,  'Elfel/a."   l  Elf  elf a!^  " 


36 


Up  the  steep,  in  his  arms,  he  had  borne  her 

that  day, 

And  had  carried  her  safe,  until  now, 
Faint,  he  fell;  Elfelfa,  very  elf,  gone  astray, 
Pushed,  with  speed,  toward  the  high  mountain 

brow; 

'Til  she  planted  her  feet,  far  above  clod  or  clay, 
On  a  ledge,  'midst  perpetual  snow; 
—Hark!  he  calls—  "Elfelfa'"  "Elfelfa!" 


But  her  brain  had  gone  wild;  for  the  billowy 

ground 

Opened  wide  on  her  right,  on  her  left; 
And  the  sulphurous  smoke  now  enveloped  her 

round, 

'Til,  of  reason,  she  quite  was  bereft; 
Oh?  the  heart  of  the  chief  wildly  beat  at  each 

bound, 

As  he  leaped  over  boulders,  new-cleft; 
—Louder  cried,  "Elfelfa!"  "Elfelfa!" 


37 


She  was  lost!    His   Elf  elf  a  he  safely  had 

brought 

To  this  fastness;  but,  now,  she  was  lost; 
Doubly  lost  —  when  he  found  her,  she  recog 

nized  not 

Her  espoused;  neither  fire;  nor  frost; 
Stood,  bewildered;  and  ever  was  near  that 

dread  spot, 

Rigid  standing;  a  Stylites'  ghost! 
—While  he  moaned,  "Elfelfa!"  "Elfelfa!" 


And   he  brought   stalks   of  tule,  and  built 

there  a  booth; 

Safe,  he  kept  his  Elfelfa,  with  care; 
Silent,  dwelt  many  a  year  with  the  wife  of 

his  youth, 
'Mongst  that  mountain's  wild  ruggedness, 

there; 
But  the  legends  all  say — (doubtless,  all  say 

the  truth), 

Such  a  burden  was  life,  now,  to  bear, — 
He  but  spake,  "Elfelfa!"  "Elf elf  a!" 


38 


And  the  legends  maintain  that,  there,  wild 

men  are  found 

In  those  fastnesses,  up  in  the  mount; 
That  they  utter  no  word,  neither  language, 

nor  sound, 

—  As  they  always  affirm  and  recount, 

—  Save    one  word,    only  one,    when    thick 

dangers  surround, 

Or,  by  moonlight,  they  rest  near  some  fount; 
—That  wild  cry,  "Elfelfa!"  "Elfelfa!" 


fi 


On  a  broad  river's  current  I  rode, 

In  a  dream; — for  it  seemed  but  a  dream; 

I  was  rowing;  Niagara  neared; 

Hard  I  rowed, — I  must  row  up  the  stream! 

On  I  rowed,  toiling  hard  while  'twas  day; 

I  no  rest  in  my  weariness  found; 

Still,  I  rowed,  in  a  difficult  way 

Through  the  waters,  to  find  solid  ground. 


Then,  a  pilgrimage  long,  I  began; 
So  my  mission  on  earth  to  fulfill; 
And,  with  toil,  I  must  press  on  my  way, 
On,  and  on, — I  must  wend  up  the  hill! 


40  A   DREAM. 

Then,  I  heard  people  'round,  mutt'ringloud: 
"  Sinned   this   man? — or    his    parents    that 
sinned? 

For  a  torch-bearer,  he,  faithful  e'er, 

But  e'er  bearing  his  torch  'gainst  the  wind!" 


"Ah!"  they  said,  "Will  he  bear,  always  bear, 
All  injustice?  tho',  wronged,  seek  the  right? 
Will  he  on,  and  yet  on,  though  'tis  dark? 
Sees  he  e'er,  'midst  the  gloaming,  the  light? 
Thinks  he  surely  the  goal  he  will  reach? 
Comes  to  him,  from  the  bitter,  the  sweet? 
Counts  he  failure  an  omen  of  weal? 
Will  he  turn,  e'en  to  vict'ry,  defeat? 


"Will  he  melt  into  tears,  as  he  plays 
Upon  only  just  one  viol  string? 
Will  he  prove  him  one  favor'd  of  Heav'n, — 
Prove  his  birthright,  as  child  of  the  King? 


A   DREAM.  41 

Will  men  yet  quite  forget  that  he  failed? 
Will  he  stand,  by-and-by ,  'mong-st  the  strong? 
When,  at  last,  from  this  life  he  has  passed, 
Will  men,  then,  speak  in  praise  of  his  song?" 


Thus  I  dreamed, — dreamed  of  life's  upward 

way, 

Dreamed  of  turmoil,  and  struggle,  and  pain; 
Dreamed  of  fainting,  and  falling,  and  rout; 
Dreamed  of  anguish,  and  hopes  blighted, 

slain; 

Dreamed  of  failure,  ignoble,  complete: — 
Were  the  battle  fore'er  to  the  strong; 
Were  not  weakness  in  mercy  made  strength; 
Were  not  sorrow,  through  grace,  turned  to 

song! 


flew  Year's  Mon)ip<J. 


New  comes  the  day!    New  comes  the  year! 

New  comes  the  count!  The  old  year's  dead! 
Mem'ry  recalls;  we  shed  a  tear, 

May  be;  how  fast  the  old  year  sped! 

But  now  for  joy!    New  joy!    More  joy! 

— An  era  new — extension  new, 
Of  time,  to  us,  for  our  employ, 

With  growth  and  betterment  in  view. 

And  now  for  hope!     New  hope!     More  hope! 

— New  effort  to  the  time  redeem; 
To  less  in  dark-zoned  realms  to  grope; 

To  make  our  life  more  than  a  dream. 

Yea,  now  for  peace!    New  peace!  More  peace! 

— More  resting-  on  the  Infinite; 
More  confidence  that,  when  we  cease 

From  earth,  for  heaven  we  shall  be  fit. 


'Twas  in  the  gray  of  dawn; 
'Twas  calm;  the  fogs  and  mists  were  on; 
Hark!     Sleep  had  from  my  eyelids  gone; 
Hark!     Still  I  lay  my  couch  upon 
And  listened.     'Twas  the  roaring  sea 
That,  beating  hard  upon  the  beach, 
A  cosmic  anthem  sang  to  me, 
Until  I  said,  "What  doth  it  teach?" 


The  breezes  gently  stir 

The  surface  of  the  mighty  deep; 

And  storms  and  tempests  oft  recur, 

L,est  those  dread  depths  should  ever  sleep! 


44  DOING. 

Our  mundane  sphere  is  ocean-girt; 
Upon  its  axis  turns  alway; 
And  tides  must  swell  seas,  else  inert, 
And  break,  by  night,  by  day. 


Shall  I  this  lesson  learn? 

My  being's  depths  are  to  be  stirred, 

Till  quick  reply  they  shall  return 

To  human  call,  or  God's  own  word; 

Till  when,  the  spirit  brooding  o'er, 

He  saith  to  me,  "Awake!"     "The  goal!" 

I  shall  have  been  prepared  before 

For  new  expansion  of  the  soul. 


This  life  began,  with  me, 

Amidst  the  busy  stir  of  men, 

On  free-land  shore  of  inland  sea; 

A  life-law  trend  that  caught  me  then, 


DOING.  45 


And  held  me  in  its  path,  still  holds; 
Activity,  the  journey  through; 
And  every  day  to  me  unfolds 
New  opportunity  to  do. 


And  rest?     But  for  new  start, 
New  impetus,  and  better  view 
Of  mortal  life's  true  goal.     The  heart 
Must  e'er  its  steady  throb  renew; 
While  up,  unto  the  higher  height, 
Expectant  gaze  I  frequent  turn, 
Upon  my  path  is  shed  new  light; 
Its  source,  more  near  to  be,  I  yearn. 


If  thus,  in  mortal  frame, 
What  must  th'  immortal  be?    What  is 
The  law — th'  eternal  law?    The  same — 
Activity,  in  realms  of  bliss. 


"If  I  Should  pall." 


"If  I  should  fall"— should  fall— what,  then? 

I  shall  not  fall,  all  helplessly; 
I  shall  not  be  destroyed;  for,  when 

Cast  down,  my  faith  shall  ever  be 
Too  strong  to  fail  me  in  the  hour 

Of  greatest  need — all,  utterly! 
Ah,  yes!  I'll  simply  trust  the  Pow'r 

That  saves — saves  everlastingly. 


"If  I  should  fall"— I'll  turn  away 

From  such  a  thought!     I  fain  would  rise 
To  higher  heights,  and  ever  stay 

Far,  and  more  far,  from  sin's  surprise; 
When  darkness  comes,  and  danger's  near, 

And  threatening,  everywhere,  the  skies, 
I'll  try  to  banish  faithless  fear, 

And  up,  e'er  upwards,  lift  my  eyes. 


Heredity  we  value  much; 
Heredity,  God  counted  in; 
Heredity,  a  life-trend  such 
As  tends  to  hatred  of  all  sin; 
Heredity,  in  favored  ones, 
Who  unto  righteousness  incline, 
Somewhere,  sometime;  in  Heav'n-blest  sons, 
Who,  through  it,  find  the  path  divine. 


Environment  we  value  more; 
Environment,  God  counted  in; 
Environment,  whate'er  before, 
Whatever  after  fights  'gainst  sin; 


48  ENVIRONMENT. 

The  atmosphere  that  moulds  the  life, 
Through  blasts  that  blow,  through  storms 

that  beat, 
Through   frosts   that  chill;    a  mad  world's 

strife; 
The  best,  glad  life,  whate'er  we  meet. 


Heredity  we  also  fear; 
Heredity,  God  counted  out; 
Heredity,  whose  leaf  is  sear, 
And  stalk  is  frail  from  very  sprout; 
Humanity  on  stony  ground; 
Not  helplessly;  not  hopelessly; 
To  many  such  has  God  been  found, 
Not  counted  out,  eternally. 


Environment  we  fear  much  more; 
Environment,  God  counted  out; 
Environment,  whate'er  before 
Gave  trend  and  fibre  to  the  sprout; 


ENVIRONMENT. 

The  tree  is  bent  by  growths  around; 
By  light  and  shade,  by  heat  and  cold, 
By  wet  and  dry  of  air  and  ground; 
More,  more  by  these,  a  thousand  fold. 


49 


Wouldst  save  that  boy?    then  save  him  soon! 
Oh!  bring  to  bear  such  influence  sweet 
In  morning  hours, — wait  not  the  noon! — 
As  sure  will  bring  to  Jesus'  feet. 
Ye  men  of  God,  who  know  hell's  power, 
What  can  ye  do?  do  soon?  and  how? 
For  such,  while  'tis  L<ife's  morning  hour? 
For  such,  what  are  ye  doing  now? 


Who  Builds? 


They  say  of  thee  thou  tearest  down, — 
But  'tis  thy  mission;  be  thou  strong! 
On  Jehu's  hind'rers  Heav'n  shall  frown; 
And,  since  thy  soul  is  fir'd  'gainst  wrong, 
Deal  blow  on  blow,  with  all  thy  might! 
In  th'  name  of  freedom,  onward,  thou! 
In  th'  name  of  justice,  truth,  and  right, 
In  th'  name  of  God,  be  valiant  now! 


Tear  down  to  build;  a  builder  thou 
Shouldst  be;  thus  thy  commission  reads; 
Build;  thus  fulfill  thy  solemn  vow 
To  serve.     In  view  of  human  needs, 
Remember  thou  must  surely  build, 
If  true  reformer  thou  wouldst  be, 
And  well  perform  what  God  hath  willed; 
Build  well;  build  for  eternity. 


Growip4  Old. 


I  feel,  dear  friend,  (yet  do  not  feel,) 

That  I  am  growing-  old  to-day; 

Tis  flesh  alone  that  will  not  heal, — 

The  spirit  knoweth  no  decay. 

Oh,  sweet  the  children  and  the  flowers! 

The  world  seems  beautiful  to  me; 

Life's  storms,  to  me,  as  April  showers, 

With  rainbows,  beautiful  to  see! 


A  child,  a  very  child,  am  I, 

E'er  basking  in  a  Father's  smiles; 

Though  darkness  low'r,  a  brighter  sky, 

I  know,  shall  be — my  hope's  a  child's! 

My  chastened  spirit  buoyant  is, 

And  confident;  my  joys  increase; 

Two  worlds  are  mine,  (though  briefly,  this,) 

I've  heav'n-born  youth  for  both  of  these! 


Like  Long's  I 


How  oft  at  twilight  have  I  seen 
The  clouds  o'er  Loma's  heights  arise, 
Till  clouds  and  hills  have  mingled  been, 
And  hid  from  view  the  sunset  skies; 
But  on  the  summit's  crest,  afar, 
There,  steady,  burned  a  beacon  light 
That,  through  the  gloom,  shone  as  a  star; 
Bright  gleam'd,  on  Loma's  loftiest  height. 


For  Loma  is  a  head-land  bold 
That  stretches  far  and  ocean-wise, 
And  stands  between  the  sheltered  hold 
And   th'   troubled   waves   where   th'  storm- 
clouds  rise; 

And  th'  ships  that  come,  and  th'  ships  that  go, 
In  safety  not  an  hour  would  be, 
Did  not  the  mariners  well  know 
That  light  that  shines  out  o'er  the  sea. 


I,OMA'S   WGHT.  53 


How  oft  my  soul  the  clouds  descry 
O'er  Calvary's  head-land,  rising  high! 
But  lo!  a  flame  that  never  dies, 
E'er  makes  the  Cross  seem  very  nigh; 
It's  glow  I  feel,  its  gleam  I  know, 
How  dark  soe'er,  and  dense  the  gloom; 
As  on  my  pilgrimage  I  go, 
It  brightly  shines  where  e'er  I  roam. 


O!  wond'rous  light  on  Calvary's  heights! 
LJght  of  the  Cross,  e'er  given  for  me; 
A  search-light  sent,  which  ne'er  affrights 
Far  out  upon  life's  troubled  sea; 
And  plain  it  marks  the  path  for  me, 
And  every  danger  well  makes  known — 
Till  I  heaven's  battlements  shall  see, 
And  th'  light  of  God's  eternal  throne. 


We  may  be  wise;  we  may  be  great; 
May  be,  what  men  call,  true; 
And,  yet,  do  naught  commensurate 
With  what  we  ought  to  do. 
We  may  have  much  of  "common  sense;" 
May  be,  what  men  call,  nice; 
And,  yet,  not  ready  to  perform, 
When  duty's  sacrifice. 


Books  we  may  know;  we  may  know  men; 
Philosophers,  may  be; 
And,  yet,  not  know  our  privilege,  plain; 
— Our  opportunity. 
And  this  should  be  our  attitude; 
—With  trust  in  God  for  all- 
Be  ready  for  the  opportune, 
Whatever  shall  befall. 


Soul's  Silnper  Solstice. 


Of  the  soul's  summer  weather  we  speak 
"When  of  happiness,  human,  we  tell; 
'Tis  the  warm  summer  sunshine  we  seek; 
In  contentment,  our  birthright,  to  dwell: 
'Tis  the  dancing  to  music — its  own — 
Of  a  heart  that  is  tuned  to  the  key 
Of  a  harmony  normal;  and  known 
To  quite  pleasing  to  Heaven  to  be. 

Made  for  summer  are  we  mortals,  all, 
Though   the  winter    makes    summer    more 

bright; 

Made  for  music  and  sweetness,  not  gall, 
Though  the  bitter  brings  sweetness  to  light; 
Made  to  cull  the  sweet  flowers  that  bloom 
By  the  pathway  of  duty  and  peace; 
Made  for  love,  joy,  and  pleasure;  the  gloom 
The    dense    darkness,    soul    death-damps, 

should  cease. 


Realized. 


"Tis  not  a  prize,  mere  prize,  we  seek, 
But  manhood  at  its  best, 
As,  day  by  day,  and  week  by  week, 
We  toil,  and  hope,  and  rest 
Upon  a  Mig-hty  Arm,  serene 
Midst  care,  and  doubting-  not 
The  evidence  of  thing's  not  seen, 
How  hard  soe'er  our  lot. 


Fruition  of  our  hope  shall  be, 

And  is,  if  we  live  on; 

Where  'twas  mirage,  a  pool  we  see; 

The  pool  is  heav'n  begun! 

Mirage  may  cheer  our  weary  feet, 

If  deserts  burning  be; 

Our  thirst  we  quench  with  waters  sweet; 

We  find  reality. 


Music/ 


Music  sweet  on  mine  ear  is  now  falling-; 
O'er  me  comes  its  magic  spell; 
Me  to  realms  ecstatic  now  calling; 
Bidding  the  heart  with  rapture  swell. 


Through  the  darkness  'round  me  here  dwel 
ling, 

Burst  bright  visions  on  my  soul; 
Sweet,  how  sweet,  the  harmony  swelling- ! 
Wond'rous  sweet  the  echoes  that  roll! 


Far  away  in  bright  visions,  now  roaming-, 
Banished  care,  and  sorrow  gone, 
Time  forgot,  forgotten  the  gloaming, 
— Hark!  those  echoes!  rolling  on! 


*"Sweet  Echoes;" — sheet  music;  duetto,  with  piano  ac 
companiment. — Albert  Matson,  Rose  TJg  Tour, 
San  Diego,  Cal. 


58  MUSIC. 

Aye,  to  mortals  kindly  are  given, 
Borne  aloft,  e'en  to  the  skies, 
Visions  blest,  than  earth  more  like  heaven, 
Ivongings  wakened  higher  to  rise. 


O'er  my  ravished  soul,  in  sweet  measures, 
Rolls  the  heavenly  symphony; 
Foretaste  this  of  sweet  endless  pleasures, 
Where  the  throngs  in  glory  be. 


What  is  this  but  prelude  now  swelling, 
Bringing  "The  Beyond"  more  near? 
"Mount  we  high,  but  find  we  no  dwelling,' 
Till  th'  Immortals'  chanting  we  hear! 


Tolls  the  Bell  To-dail>* 


Toll!  toll!  toll!  toll!     Hark!  hark! 

Why  tolls  the  solemn  bell  to-day? 
From  whom  hath  fled  the  vital  spark, 

And  left  its  casement  to  decay? 
That  wond'rous  bell  in  yonder  tow'r 

Was  never  known,  before  to-day, 
To  toll,  save  in  the  solemn  hour 

When  royalty  had  passed  away; 


Some  Crown-ed  Head  of  Europe,  or 
Great  Potentate  of  English  State; 

But  now  that  sound  is  heard  afar, 
And  throngs  expectant  breathless  wait. 

*  Great  bell,  Condon,  at  death  of  President  Garfield. 


60  WHY  TOZ,I,S  THE   BEU,  TO-DAY. 

Toll!  toll!  toll!  toll!     Hark!   hark! 

What  message  doth  its  tolling  tell? 
From  whom  hath  fled  the  vital  spark? 

What  spirit  choice  hath  gone  to  dwell 
With  th'  Bands  Immortal  "over  there?" 

Nor  Crown-ed  Head,  nor  Prince,  is  dead, 
In  Europe  all;  so  all  declare: — 

Loud  tolls  the  bell  from  tow'r  o'erhead. 


Toll!  toll!  toll!  toll!    Hark!  hark! 

Why  float  at  half-mast  colors  all? 
From  whom  hath  fled  the  vital  spark? 

And  to  what  land  has  come  Death's  pall? 
What  means  this  hush,  this  bated  breath? 

Th'  astonished   throng,  to  silence  awed, 
And  still?    A  voice,  to  it,  is  death? 

And  death,  to  it,  the  voice  of  God? 


WHY  TOI^S  THE  BEI.lv  TO-DAY.  61 

Toll!  toll!  toll!  toll!    Hark!  hark! 

How  yawns  the  grave,  when  tolls  that  bell! 
From  whom  hath  fled  the  vital  spark? 

Who  journeys  now? — How  sad  that  knell! 
Sadder  than  ever,  through  the  years, 

That  deep  death-knell  from  tow'r  o'erhead! 
A  Nation  weeps!     The  World's  in  tears! 

A  Heroe's  fallen !     '  'Garfield  's  dead/' ' 


The  Life. 


Religion  is  a  life:  'tis  said 

A  sharing  of  sweet  communion,  here, 
With  Him  who  is  our  living  Head, 

And  thus  prepare  heav'n's  bliss  to  share. 
A  life  of  service,  others  say; 

The  measure  of  faith,  the  works  we  do; 
We  wait,  we  watch,  we  hope,  we  pray, 

We  try  to  serve,  the  journey  through. 


And  yet,  'tis  more;  it  is,  'tis  true, 

A  life  of  full  and  sweet  accord 
And  love,  and  sweet  communion,  too, 

With  Him  who  is  our  loving  Lord, 
Thus  finding  heav'n  begun  below; 

But  still,  'tis  more;  our  faith  to  prove 
By  works,  as  on  our  way  we  go, 

Is  not  enough,  though  wrought  in  love. 


63 


What,  then?  'tis  what  we  try  to  do; 

Successes  some  our  efforts  bring; 
"Tis  effort  true,  His  will  in  view, 

That  brings  us  nearest  to  our  King; 
'Tis  thus  we  find  the  highest  bliss, 

'Neath  Heaven's  smiles,  'neath  Heaven's 

rod; 
To  be  religious  is  just  this,  — 

Just  try  to  do  the  will  of  God. 


Ebb  arid  plow. 


The  waves  of  ocean  ebb  and  flow, 

And  ebb  and  flow  again; 
And  thus,  forever,  on  they  go, 

On,  rolling  from  the  main, 
New-formed  and  big.     E'er  they  retreat 

They  break  upon  the  shore 
With  new  persistence,  bold  and  great, 

With  rush  and  rythmic  roar. 


64  EBB  AND  FLOW. 

But  they  no  pow'r  of  will  disclose, 

In  them,  themselves,  confined; 
Outside  of  them  the  will  that  chose,— 

The  will  of  th'  Almighty  Mind: 
They  come,  they  go;  God  made  them  so;- 

Ne'er  willing,  seek  the  land; 
But,  on  and  on,  they  ebb  and  flow, 

Borne  by  th'  Almighty  Hand. 


When  we  compare  the  ebb  and  flow 

Of  th'  life  divine,  with  this, 
Analogy'-s  at  fault,  we  know; — 

And  this  the  diff 'rence  is: 
The  soul  that  seeks  the  Father's  face, 

On  flood -tide  born  shall  be; 
But  he  tha.t  fails  to  seek,  through  grace, 

Is  lost  in  th'  shoreless  sea! 


t  Outl" 


Oh,  "Think  it  out!"— not  blindly  go 

And  careless,  all,  to-day, 
And  when  to-morrow  conies,  then,  lo! 

The  way's  a  wrong,  rough  way: 
But  "think  it  out"— what  God  hath  planned, 

Thy  plans  to  His  conform; 
He  buildeth  not  upon  the  sand, — 

Take  heed;  His  will  perform. 


God  builds,  and  man,  with  Him,  should  build, 

And  thus  his  mission  find; 
Tear  down  and  build,  if  God  hath  willed, 

But  build,  with  willing  mind. 
There  traverse  all  the  ages  through 

Reforms,  whose  steady  trend 
Imply  a  building  up,  anew, 

Up-building  to  the  end. 


66  THINK  IT  OUT. 

Oh,  "Think  it  out!"— that  evil  great, 

Whatever  it  may  be; 
Or  woe  of  life,  or  woe  of  state, 

And  great  increasingly: 
With  all  its  loudly  boasting  strength, 

'Twould,  sure,  be  put  to  rout, 
Or  very  soon,  or  yet  at  length, 

If  men  would  "Think  it  out!" 


Yes,  so  of  any  giant  power 

That  now  infests  the  land; 
That  stalks,  defiant,  every  hour, 

And  slays  on  every  hand; — 
If  patriots  would  but  "Think  it  out," 

And  how  such  shall  be  slain, 
Each  monster  soon  we'd  put  to  rout, 

Till  none  would  still  remain. 


Goal. 


Here,  apart  from  earth's  commotion, 

'Neath  a  thought-form's  helpful  bow'r, 
Contemplating  Life's  vast  ocean, — 

Storms  recall,  that  spent  their  pow'r, 
Oft  recurring,  furious  breaking 

Their  big  billows  on  the  shore, — 
Meditating  and  day-dreaming, 

Mem'ries  sweet,  and  mem'ries  sad, 
Fresh  return.     My  thoughts,  now  teeming 

With  the  Past,  again  I  tread 
Paths  that  I  before  have  trodden, 

'Mongst  some,  living;  'mongst  some,  dead. 
Think  of  maelstroms  that  alarmed  me; 

Think  of  cyclones;  shoals  not  few; 
Of  forbidden  things  that  harmed  me; 

Harmed  me  more  than,  then,  I  knew; 


68  THE  GOAI,. 

How  Hell's  pow'r  sometimes  disarmed  me, 

When  the  sword  'gainst  wrong- 1  drew; 
How  I  saw  that  Heav'n  would  have  me 

Exercise  a  faith  more  strong; 
How  I  cried,  "My  God!  my  strength  be, 

Till  I  sing  the  victor's  song!" 
How  He  heard,  and  vict'ry  gave  me, 

Oft,  when  battling  with  the  wrong. 
Think  of  scenes  to  which  I  hasten; — 

Scenes  beyond  mere  mortal  ken; 
Blessed  shores  and  fields  elysian, 

By-and-by  those  shores  to  gain; 
Think  how  I  await  that  vision, 

Goal  of  Now,  and  home  of  Then; — 
Ah!  to  me,  as  time  flies,  fleeter, 

Brighter,  'tis,  where  e'er  I  rove; 
Yea,  the  joys  of  earth  are  sweeter, — 

Foretast  of  those  joys  above, 
Where  I'll  be  at  home  forever; — 

Home!  of  Life,  and  Light,  and  Love! 


flo  Vested  Interest. 


I'd  have  no  vested  interest  in 

One  hellish  thing-.     The  hosts  of  sin 

Should  no  encouragement  e'er  find 

Through  influence,  now,  or  left  behind, 

Of  mine.     I'd  know  no  compromise. 

I'd  walk,  so  far  as  in  me  lies, 

With  skirts  all  clean  of  stain  of  blood, 

And  conscience  clear,  before  my  God. 


Defensive,  I?     Or,  neutral,  stand? 
Ah,  no!     Aggressive,  I!     A  brand 
From  out  the  burning  snatched,  shall  I 
IndifP rent  be  to  human  cry 
Of  woe?    Or  stand,  irresolute, 
When  duty  calls,  shame-faced,  and  mute? 
I'd  cry  to  God,  "Send  me!"     "Send  me!" 
"May  I  be  true— to  Thee!  to  Thee!" 


Compelled. 


I  am  compelled  my  Cross  to  bear! 

There  is  to  me  no  other  way; 
And  whether  toil,  or  loss,  or  care, 

Or  whether  bright  or  dark  the  day, 
What  e'er  the  special  burden  be 

That  comes  to  me,  the  Cross  I  must,- 
Else  recreant  be,  so,  shamefully, — 

Must  take,  bear  manfully,  and  trust. 


Ah!  yes;  compelled!     He  is  my  Lord; 

It  is,  I  know,  for  Him  to  say. 
He  could  to  Simon  help  afford; 

He  can  to  me,  "Grace  as  my  day;" 
If  only  'tis  His  Cross  I  bear, 

In  sympathy  with  Him  and  His, 
This  suffering,  with  Him,  to  share; 

If,  for  His  sake,  the  bearing  is. 


Bell?  of 


It  seems  to  me  that  bells  I  hear 

At  th'  twilight  hour  of  stillness,  oft, 
As  I  strive  to  catch,  with  list'ning-  ear, 

Sounds  sweetly,  ravishingly,  soft, 
That  come  to  me  from  other  sphere 

Than  that  of  Time  and  Nature's  bound; 
— As  if  the  angels,  drawing  near, 

Rang  bells  of  softest,  sweetest,  sound. 


Sometimes,  there  comes  a  dreamy  spell 

When  Nature  sings  of  "The  Beyond;" — 
And  then  those  sounds  I  know  so  well, 

To  which  to  list'ning  I'm  so  fond, 
Join  in  the  symphony,  sttblime; 

— Sweet  bells! — as  if  by  angels  rung; 
— Not  sounds  for  earth,  not  bells  of  time, 

But  bells  in  Heav'n's  high  arches  hung. 


72  BELLS  OF  ANGELS. 

Why  not?    Why  may  not  come  to  me 

Such  promise  of  a  land  unseen? 
When  quiet  is  Life's  stormy  sea, 

And  on  a  Mighty  Arm  I  lean 
By  faith  so  strong  that  sweetest  peace 

Fills  all  my  soul,  and  Heav'n  is  near, 
And  turmoil,  all,  and  strivings,  cease, 

— Why  not  the  bells  of  angels  hear? 


The  Mai?  Without  the  {Joe 


Just  driftwood — borne  on  th'  stream  of  time, 

"The  man  without  the  hoe!" 
Calamity  to  normal  cult; 

Earth's  Toilers'  burden;  Foe! 

Sham! — to    manhood    born — not    reared,     but 
spoiled, 

This  palpable,  puffed  Fraud! 
Swamp-rotted,  withered,  root  and  branch; 
He  drifts — away  from  God! — 


Humanity  adrift — far  out, 

"The  man  without  the  hoe!" 
With  brains,  toils  not;  toils  not  with  brawn; 

The  Poor  man's  burden;  Foe! 
Strives  not  for  dear  humanity; 

Builds  naught  for  God,  naught!  naught! 
From  work,  and  workers,  all,  aloof; 

He  drifts — his  back  towards  God! 


74  THE  MAN  WITHOUT  THE  HOE 

Humanity  adrift — and  sick, 

"The  man  without  the  hoe!" 
Incapable,  and  weak,  deformed; 

The  Good  man's  burden;  Foe! 
His  individuality 

Submerged,  ignored,  forgot; 
(Oh,  th'  bitterness  of  life  "genteel!") 

He  drifts — forgetting  God! 


Humanity  adrift  and  tossed, 

"The  man  without  the  hoe!" 
Driv'n  hither,  now;  now,  thither  driv'n; 

The  True  man's  burden;  Foe! 
For  others'  woe,  cares  not — or  weal; 

Preys,  wastes,  what  others'  got 
By  honest  effort,  fairest  means; 

He  drifts — despising  God! 


THE  MAN  WITHOUT  THE  HOE  •  75 

Humanity  adrift — condemned, 

"The  man  without  the  hoe!" 
Most  wreckless  thing  time's  current  bears; 

The  Saved  man's  burden;  Foe! 
Soft  (lep'rous)  hands! — heart,  petrified! 

In  time's  whirl-rubbish  caught; 
To  conscience  dead — to  reason,  too; 

He  drifts — blaspheming  God! 


Humanity  adrift — and  lost, 

''The  man  without  the  hoe!" 
He  swags,  in  helpless,  hell-ward  trend; 

The  Christ-man's  burden;  Foe! 
No  "Burden  of  the  world"  for  him! 

By  him,  no  work,  well  wrought! 
Punk,  Tinder,  fit  for  th'  fires  of  hell! 

He  drifts — th'  Accursed  of  God! 


Brother  arid  I 


We  are  Christian  men,  both, 
And  a  title  we  own 
To  a  mansion,  we  know,  in  the  skies; 
And  we  work  and  we  pray, 
Teaching  men  the  right  way, 
And  our  faith  is  a  faith  that  ne'er  dies; 
But  we  walk  in  our  own  distant  paths  now  and 

then; 

For  we  never  once  vote  for  the  same  Christian 
men; 

My  brother  and  I! 

We  are  neighbors,  close  by, 
And  our  efforts  are  joined 
In  the  work  of  reclaiming  the  world; 
And  our  voices  are  heard 
Full  explaining  the  Word, 
And  we're  keeping  His  banner  unfurled; 
But  we  follow  our  own  chosen  paths  now  and 

then; 

For  we  never  once  vote  for  the  same  sort  of 
men; 

My  brother  and  I! 


77  MY   BROTHER  AND   I 

For  our  country  we  bled, 

In  that  cruel  home  war, 
When  our  friends,  oft,  were  foes  in  disguise; 

But  we  ne'er  could  forget, 

Oft  we  speak  of  it  yet, 
Our's  was  friendship  with  holiest  ties; 

But  we  kept  in  our  own  beaten  paths  now  and 
then; 

Ah!  we  never  did  vote  for  the  same  class  of 
men; 

My  brother  and  I! 

We  are  both  growing  old, 

And  the  summers  are  few 
That  we'll  spend  in  this  garden  of  God; 

Will  the  boys  of  to-day 

Whom  we've  taught  the  right  way, 
Will  they  follow  the  paths  we  have  trod? 

We  have  followed  our  own  devious  paths  now 
and  then; 

We  could  never  once  vote  for  the  same  solid 
men: 

My  brother  and  I: 


MY  BROTHER   AND   I  78 

And  our  country  now  needs 
All  the  help  of  such  men 
As  its  dangers  can  forecast  to-day; 
That  are  men  of  much  prayer, 
And  for  liberty  care, 
And  are  men  that  will  vote  as  they  pray; 
But  we  go  in  our  own  parting  paths  now  and 
then; 

For  we  don't  care  to  vote  for  the  same  kind  of 
men; 

My  brother  and  I! 

The  Saloon  may  go  up, 
The  Saloon  may  go  down, 
A  conservative  man,  he,  and  wise; 
But  I'll  vote  as  I  pray, 
I  believe  that's  the  way, 
I'll  have  nothing  of  Hell's  compromise; 
On  we  go  in  our  own  party  paths  once  again; 
For  we  don't  want  to  vote  for  the  same  party 
men; 

My  brother  and  I! 


Tfyree  View? 


THE  LICENSE  ADVOCATE. 

'  'Drink  it!  and  serpents  with  hissings,  and 
Ceilings,  and  fangs,  and  with  adder-like 
Stingings  shall  compass  and  torment  you! 
Drink  it!  and  listen  to  children  loud 
Crying,  and  women  wild  wailing,  and 
Demons'  fierce  shrieking  and  mocking  you! 
Drink  it!  and  'sorrow'  and  'babbling'  and 
'Woe'  shall  be;  shadows  and  darknesses!" 


"Shun  it!  such  sin  is  your  own  sin,  friend; 
Not  mine,  or  the  State's,  you  see. 
Liberty  gives  you  the  right  to  sin. 
Law  may  protect,  but  not  hinder  you. 
Spurn  it,  let  nature  assert  herself. 
(Look  for  no  help  of  the  legal  kind.) 
Rum  and  Saloon  will  e'er  tempt  you.     Of 
Action,  my  rule  is:  'CAN'T  HELP  IT!'  " 


THREE  VIEWS  80 

THE   CONFIRMED   Ar.COHOI.lTE. 

"Drink!  and  the  sunshine  and  shadows  shall 
Over  the  billowy  fields,  again, 
Chase  one  another,  as  landscapes  they 
Paint  in  the  brain;  bring  the  dews  of  the 
Night,  and  the  sweet  breath  of  June,  and  the 
Carol  of  lark,  and  the  song  'Harvest 
Home";  all  the  autumn's  rich  light;  many 
Day-dawns  and  eve-dusks  of  happiness." 


"Drink!  and  the  damps  of  the  present  will 
Vanish;  no  pow'r  among  men  can  say 
Nay  to  this  joy;  'tis  the  joy  of  the 

Heart  that  High  Heaven  would  not  keep  us 
from. 

Drink!  and  the  future  is  bright,  all,  and 
Golden,  whatever  the  past  or  the 
Present  may  seem,  in  the  hour  of  the 
Soul's  deep  depression.— 'YOU  WANT  IT!'  " 


THREE  VIEWS  81 

THE  ANTI-LICENSE  ADVOCATE. 
'  'Stop  it!  you  both  vote  the  ballot  that 
Keeps  it;  the  open  Saloon  is  made 
Legal;  the  wayfaring  man  is  sore 
Tempted;  the  sot  keeps  his  sottishness. 
Strike  it!  'tis  bloodshed,  and  heartache  and 
Home-wreck;  perdition  eternal,  'tis. 
Shame  on  the  freeman  that  votes  such  a 
Ballot!  Oh,  shame  on  the  Christian  menl" 


"Kill  it!  Oh,  ballot  for  conscience  and 
Purity,  honor,  and  home's  welfare! 
Ballot  for  God,  and  for  justice  and 
Righteousness'  sake,  O  true  citizen! 
Bury  it!  wrap  the  vile  license  sheet 
'Round  its  doomed  whisky  flask!     Label  it 
'Horrors  of  hell  and  the  damned!''    Of 
Action,  wy/rule  is:  'NO  COMPROMISE.'  " 


Two  Mits 


"Two  mits,"  she  read;  "two  mites"  it  said- 

The  story  in  her  Testament. 
Then,  with  mits  on  hand  and  hood  on  head, 

To  church  and  Sunday-school  she  went 
A  precious  gift,  those  mits  to  her, 

And  carefully  she  kept  them,  too; 
So  soft,  and  nice,  and  clean,  they  were — 

Without  those  mits,  what  would  she  do? 


'Twas  mission  day.     The  pastor  told 

The  need  of  gifts,  both  large  and  small; 
And  how  some  yielded  hundredfold, 

In  gifts  of  others,  at  God's  call. 
"If  we  would  only  try, "  he  said, 

"We  surely,  too,  that  call  would  hear." 
And  then  the  Scripture  story  read 

About  the  "mites,"  and  stopped  just  there. 


TWO  MITS  83 

"He  calls  them  mites,"  said  Curly-head; 

"It  must  have  been  her  mits  she  gave. 
I  don't  know  how  much  good  they  did, 

But  I  would  like  one  child  to  save. 
I  don't  know  what  to  do!  dear  me! 

I've  not  one  cent  to  give  just  now; 
I  wish  I  had.     Now,  let  me  see. 

Oh!  could  I  spare  my  mits?    Oh!  how? 


The  contribution  box  went  'round, 

And,  just  as  it  was  passing  by, 
She  dropped  her  mits.     They  made  no  sound, 

And,  so,  escaped  the  deacon's  eye. 
But,  when  he'd  counted  all,  he  said, 

"Some  one  has  lost  her  mits,  I  see." 
Upon  the  seat  climbed  Curly-head, 

And  sobbed  aloud,  "They  b'long  to  me!" 


84  ETERNITY  —  IMMORTALITY 

And  then,  in  tears  fast  falling,  told 
How  she  had  longed  to  do  her  part 
"The  widow  gave  her  mits,  not  gold, 

And  /  love  Jesus  in  my  heart.  " 
They  counted  much,  those  mits,  that  day; 

In  tears  the  congregation  sat; 
And  then  were  moved,  without  delay, 

To  pass  around  both  box  and  hat 


Eternity—  Iipiportality 


Eternity!     Lo,  O  my  soul! 

E'en  nearer  to  thee  the  billows  roll 

Of  that  vast  sea,  and  boundless  all, 

Which  e'er  shall  be,  though  th'  heavens  fall. 

Eternity!— And  shall  it  be 

That  I,  in  immortality, 

All  joy  shall  see?  Prom  sin  set  free? 

Eternity!    Eternity! 


Mi|  CoifijtrtJ's  Conscience  To-p 


(10-29-'97,  at  10  o'clock,  p.  m.) 

The  century  soon  will  close.     Two  years, 
Two  months,  two  days,  two  hours,  and  then 
Will  be  begun  the  hopes  and  fears, 
The  smiles  and  tears,  the  times  of  th'  men 
Of  th'  century's  last  year.     Watchman,  say, 
What  promise  bodes?  "What  of  the  night?" 
My  country  sleeps!     When  comes  the  day 
Of  conscience  roused  ? 


This  favored  land!     This  Gospel  ground! 
This  home  of  light  and  liberty! 
Asleep!     A  slumber  so  profound! 
Though  having  eyes,  men  do  not  see! 
Though  having  ears,  men  do  not  hear! 
Though  having  hearts,  men  do  not  feel! 
Nor  heed  the  foe  they  ought  to  fear! 
Nor  comprehend! 


86     MY  COUNTRY'  SCONSCIENCE  TO-NIGHT 

Columbia  sleeps!     Rum  never  sleeps. 
Good  Christians  quail!     Rum  never  quails, 
But  every  gain  and  vantage  keeps. 
To  war-to-knife,  it  never  fails. 
The  Christian  frets!     Rum  issues  threats. 
The  Christian  mourns!    Rum  scoffs  and  scorns. 
The  Christian  waits!     Rum  ne'er  abates. 
And  conscience  sleeps! 


The  Christian  votes;  and  Rum  makes  notes! 
He  always  votes;  he's  "Temperance,"  strong! 
"Votes  as  he  prays;" — him,  thus,  Rum  quotes! 
But  votes  with  Rum!     O  God!  how  long? 
And  votes  for  Rum!     In  league  with  Hell! 
The  plague  and  scourge  of  earth  moves  on! 
What  power  can  rouse?   What  break  the  spell  ? 
For  conscience  sleeps! 


Son)etin)es  Yours,  but  fllwaijs  You 


I  want — while  still  earth's  wants  endure — 

Want,  sometimes,  yours,  but  always,  you! 
The  joys  of  heav'n,  to  me,  are  sure; 

I'm  needy  here,  the  journey  through; 
'Tis  now  I  need  the  costly  gifts — 

Not  burial  spices,  linens  fine! 
'Tis  here,  my  friend,  syn-pathos  lifts 

The  clouds,  and  cheers  this  soul  of  mine . 

'Tis  now  my  Josephs  serve  me  well! 

What  matter  what  my  tomb  may  be  ? 
While  here,  in  loneliness,  I  dwell, 

Or  pain;  oh,  give  me  sympathy! 
Mock  not  my  sorrows;  keep  thy  gold! 

My  wounds  and  bruises  dost  thou  know? 
Then  furnish  "Oil  and  wine";  behold 

My  need!     Sweet  sympathy  bestow! 


The  Shriek  I 


Upon  its  way,  perdition-ward, 

I  heard  a  sentenced  soul 
A  curse  shriek  out.     "Oh,  that  'twere  heard!" 

I  said,  "From  pole  to  pole!" 
Such  curse!  such  condemnation,  fierce! 

Such  imprecation,  dread! 
It  pierced  my  soul  quite  through  and  through, 

As  if  an  arrow  sped. 

Such  condemnation  of  the  men 

Who  crucify,  afresh, 
The  Son  of  Man  again,  again, 

For  sake  of  "Pots  of  flesh!" 
That  prostitute  a  sacred  trust, 

Indulgences  to  sell! 
Who,  at  the  polls,  a  ballot  thrust 

That  tells— for  earth— for  hell! 


THAT  SHRIEK   I   HEARD  89 

"O,  Heav'n!"  I  cried,  "how  long?  how  long? 

How  long  shall  this  thing  be  ? 
The  church,  how  long  permit  this  wrong 

To  curse  humanity?" — 
"For  so  much  money,  so  much  sin!" — 

'Tis  ballots  make  it  so! — 
While  chiirchmen's  ballots  go  for  gin, 

They  curse  (the  church)  who  hellward  go! 


Ah,  ah,  that  shriek!     Could  ye  but  hear, 

Ye  men  with  suffrage  crowned, 
Remembering  a  judgment  near, 

While  on  earth's  battle-ground, 
Henceforth,  methinks,  ye  surely  would 

Do  battle  for  the  right, 
If  hear  that  shriek,  ye  only  could! 

That  shriek  I  heard  last  night! 


Tbe  Worp  Spirit 


Oh!  why  does  sadness  stay? 
And  why  does  darkness  lower? 
My  gloom  should  flee  away; 
My  thoughts  to  heaven  soar. 
Oh!  why  does  sorrow  brood? 
And  why  does  grief  oppress  ? 
My  soul,  with  peace  imbued 
Should  be,  and  joy  confess. 


Bear  Tfytj  Cro$? 


O  cease,  my  troubled  spirit,  cease 

Thy  murm'rings!     Banish  not  that  peace 

Thou'st  ever  found,  while  bending  low 

Before  the  Cross,  God's  will  to  know! 

Thy  disappointments  cease  to  feel, 

And  let  thy  wounds  thy  Saviour  heal; 

Thy  frettings  cease,  'neath  burdens  sore; 

Bear,  patiently,  new  strength  implore. 

Add  strength  to  strength;  add  peace  to  peace; 

Add  joy  to  joy;  let  tumult  cease; 

Be  reconciled  to  suffer  loss: 

Thou  seek'st  a  crown  ?    Then  bear  thy  Cross! 


"Boulder  to  ftodlder" 


Now,  "Mark  time!  march!"  ye  vet'rans  Blue! 

And  "Mark  time!  march!"  ye  vet'rans  Gray! 
With  '  'Shoulder  to  shoulder, ' '  ye  comrades  true! 

With  "Shoulder  to  shoulder, "  come  join  th' 

affray! 
A  mighty  foe,  entrenched  around, 

With  insolent  and  mocking  mien, 
Is  pressing  hard  on  freemen's  ground: 

And  Hell  decrees  that  rum  shall  reign! 


With  steady,  even  tread,  again, 

Take  up  the  march,  both  Blue  and  Gray! 
For  love  of  country,  oh,  be  men! 

For  country  calls  again,  to-day. 
Beneath  one  banner,  now  march  on, 

To  fight  one  common  enemy; 
And  louder  than  in  days  agone, 

Let  be  the  shouts  of  victory! 


Tbe  Creed 


The  Issue  of  the  ages,  is, 
The  Creed  of  Christendom; 
In  every  realm  of  earth  is  this 
The  question,  now,  become: 
Salvation,  tis;   (Salvation  such; — 
Self-ruined,  selfish  man, 
By  One  that  loveth  him  so  much; 
Who  willing,  is;  Who  can.) 


Salvation,  'tis;   (of  such,  by  Such;) 

Earth  is  redeem 'd  to  be; 

And  man  once  more  with  God  in  touch 

Be  brought,  through  pardon,  free; 

The  modus  operandi,  all, 

( The  means]  outside  of  this, 

To  other  category  fall: — 

Saved,  he,  who  willing,  is! 


Sweet  Release 


How  blest  the  soul  that's  found  forgiveness! 

What  joy  to  be  from  sin  set  free! 

How  blest  the  peace,  when  Christ's  salvation 

Has  made  us  His  for  e'er  to  be! 

Oh!  sweetly  sing  of  Christ's  salvation! 

Sing  songs  of  sweetest,  holiest  love! 

L,et,  more  and  more,  your  songs  re-echo 

The  songs  of  joy  and  praise  above. 


Yes!  joy  and  gladness  fill  our  hearts; 
Soul-darkness  finds  sweet  release; 
Sorrow  is  hushed,  and  sadness  departs, 
When  Jesus,  from  burdens,  frees. 


of  the  "Bright  Side" 


I  will  sing  of  the  "Bright  Side",  to-day; 
I  will  yield  nor  to  gloom  nor  despair; 
Let  to-morrow  bring  forth  what  it  may, 
Of  my  gladness,  I'll  sing  and  declare. 
Aye,  the  world  of  my  sunshine,  has  need; 
Of  my  sorrows,  it  cares  not  to  know; 
That  its  paths  may  be  brighter,  indeed, 
I  would  add  what  I  may,  as  I  go. 


As  the  song-birds,  by  Nature,  are  taught, 
So  have  I  been,  by  Nature  and  Grace; 
I  would  sing  of  the  best  life  has  brought; 
Unto  brightness  should  darkness  give  place. 
— Comes  the  sunset — but  Day  follows  night; 
And  my  eyes  toward  the  Sunrise,  I'll  turn; 
Of  sweet  hope,  would  I  sing,  with  delight; 
— For  fruition  of  which,  now,  I  yearn. 


The  Injnjortals'  Cbaptipcjs  I  {leaf 


In  the  hour  of  my  soul's  calm,  sweet  resting 

On  the  Infinite,  alone, 

Sweetest  notes — while  safely  I'm  nestling, 

As  beside  th'  Eternal  Throne — 

Come  to  me.     Th'  Immortals  are  chanting, 

And  the  bells  of  heaven  chime; 

Sounds  of  earth,  though  sweet,  all  supplanting, 

And  forgotten,  things  of  time. 


Multitudinous  hosts  are  now  voicing 

Glory,  grand,  eternal,  near; 

Echoes,  sweet — of  heaven's  rejoicing — 

May  not  I  such  echoes  hear? 

Harmonies,  celestial,  are  falling, 

E'en  upon  a  mortal's  ear! 

From  th'  unseen,  so  sweetly  now  calling, 

Telling  of  th'  Eternal  sphere. 


%      THE  IMMORTALS  CHANTINGS  I  HEAR 

Oh!  how  sweet  are  those  echoes  resounding! 

How  they  calm  my  aching  breast! 

While  those  heavenly  measures  are  sounding, 

Calmly,  I,  and  sweetly,  rest; 

To  their  magic  spell,  while  I'm  yielding, 

Gath'ring  clouds  are  rolled  away; 

While  their  influence,  sweet,  they  are  wielding, 

Through  heav'n's  portals  beams  the  day. 


Oh,  that  beautiful  world/    , 

Oh,  that  beautiful  world! 

The  Immortals'  chantings  I  hear! 

Beautiful  world!    Beautiful  world! 

O  realms  ecstatic! — so  near! 

Sweet  harmonies  roll! 

Sweet  chantings  I  hear! 

Sweet chant ings I hear! 


To-n)otfow  is  flpotljef  Daij 


To-day  is  mine;  for  weal — or  woe: 
To-morrow,  I  may  never  know: 
Time  was,  time  is;  but,  unto  me, 
No  pledge  is  giv'n  that  time  shall  be: 
Assurance  none,  have  I,  and  true — 
But  this; — To-day,  I  live,  and  do: 
To-day  shall  pass  for  e'er  away: 
—  To-morrow  is  another  day! 

And,  if  it  comes — as  came  to-day's — 
To-morrow's  sun,  with  self-same  rays — 
Another  age,  to-morrow  is, 
And  may  not  be  like  unto  this; 
And  other  life,  and  other  love, 
And  other  influences  may  move: 
— Oh,  do,  to-day,  what  should  be  done! 
Oh,  wait  not  thou  to-morrow's  sun! 


98          TO-MORROW  is  ANOTHER  DAY 

To-day  is  ours:— What  of  the  Then  ? 
What  shall  be  theirs,  do  mortals  ken  ? 
Oh,  precious  hours! — and  minutes,  too! 
Awake!  Away!     There's  work  to  do! 
How  quick  the  sun  the  heav'ns  shall  span! 
How  soon  the  breeze  of  ev'n  shall  fan! 
How  shortly  night  shall  come  and  ask 
If  we  have  well  performed  each  task! 


Heav'n  help  us,  then,  awake  to  be 
In  morning  hours — our  work  to  see; 
And,  as  comes  on  the  noon-day  heat, 
When  move  but  slow  the  weary  feet, 
And  as  advance  the  evening  hours, 
Heav'n  help  us  use  our  God-giv'n  pow'rs 
To  make  the  world  the  brighter,  some; 
— And,  after  toil,  sweet  rest  shall  come. 


Loved  Oi)e  Told  Me 


Sometimes  in  a  dream,  in  a  vision,  it  seems, 

I  hold  sweet  communion,  again, 

With  a  Loved  One,  now  gone;  and,  in  flitting 

day-dreams, 

The  Veil  is  uplifted,  amain: — 
But  'tis  only  in  dreams,  or  in  visions,  I  see 
The  bright  form  of  that  Dear  One,  so  near; — 
Then  she's  vanished  again,  and  she's  hidden 

from  me; 
Mine  a  mortal,  her's  an  immortal,  sphere. 


I  dwell  on  the  Beach-land  of  a  separating  sea, 

The  Strand  whence  my  Loved  One  passed  o'er; 

By  sign  or  by  signal,  she  never,  to  me, 

Has  spoken,  from  that  hidden  Shore: — 

Her  life  has  gone  out,  her  life  has  gone  on; 

But  'tis  hidden  from  mortals,  away; — 

And  the  separating  Veil,  o'er  that  Sea  that  is 

drawn, 
Will  ne'er  lift  while,  on  th*  hither  shore,   I 

stay. 

*  Sheet  music — sweetly  beautiful. 
Crown  Pub.  Co.,  Mt.  Kisco,  N.  Y. 


100  MY  LOVED  ONE  TOLD  ME  SO 

The  thought  of  th'  "Home- Land"  is  sweeter  to 
me, 

When  I  think  of  my  dear  Loved  One,  there; — 

And  what  words  mortals  know  can  more  sweet 
ever  be 

Than    "Sweet  Home,"    "Sweet  Mother"  and 
"Sweet  Dear?"— 

And  the  mists  cloud  my  eyes,  as  I  dwell  on  the 
theme, 

Like  the  Mists  of  that  separating  Sea; — 

But  the  Veil  will  uplift — no  more  vision,   or 
dream; 

There's  a  "Home-Land,"  and  a  Loved  One, 
for  me. 


My  Loved  One  told  me  so, 
In  accents  sweet  and  low; 

And  she  bade  me  meet  her  on   that  happier 
shore, 

When  she  left  me,  long  ago. 


Goldei)  Gli 


I  heard  a  beautiful  note, 

That  came  from  some  instrument,  sweet; 

— Then  the  thought  of  a  harmony  came, 

My  hungering  soul  to  greet: 

I  saw  a  beautiful  flower, 

That  grew  in  the  field  near-by; 

— Then  the  thought  of  a  Beauty,  beyond 

All  beauty  of  earth  and  of  sky. 

I  saw  a  beautiful  ray, 

That  steadily  gleamed  in  the  night; 

— Then  the  thought  of  a  Brightness,  untold, 

Where  darkness  ne'er  banishes  Light: 

I  saw  a  beautiful  bird, 

When  feeding  her  brood,  in  the  nest; 

— Then  the  thought  of  that  Infinite  Love, 

That  bears  a  world  on  its  Breast. 


102  GOLDEN  GLIMPSES 

I  saw  a  beautiful  home, 

A  refuge,  and  resting-place,  sweet; 

—Then  the  thought  of  that  City  of  Light, 

Where,  loved  ones,  I've  promised  to  meet: 

I  saw  a  beautiful  river 

Of  waters,  from  fountains  unknown; 

— Then  the  thought  of  that  e'er-flowing  Stream 

Of  Waters,  from  founts  'bout  the  Throne. 


Ah!  the  rays  tell  of  suns; 
And  the  notes  tell  of  chords; 
And  the  birds  and  the  flowers 
Teach  us  plain  as  do  words: 
Gain  we  glimpses,  only  glimpses, 
Golden  glimpses,  though  they  be, 
Of  the  Source  of  all  life; 
— Of  Eternity. 


ii&  Glad  fleart 


Sing!  sing,  glad  heart!  oh,  sing  thy  gladness! 
— Whatever  speaks  of  cheer  and  joy; 
Sing!  bid  the  sad  forget  their  sadness; 
— Whatever  would  sweet  peace  destroy: 
The  heart  is  cheered  when  beauty  brightens; 
Glad  songs  are  full  of  beauty,  e'er; 
The  song  of  joy  the  burden  lightens 
— The  burden  built  of  toil  and  care. 

Sing  joyful  songs!  think  of  their  mission! 
Tune  heart  and  voice  to  sing  such  songs; 
Sing  of  sweet  hope;  of  hope's  fruition; 
To  thee,  such  privilege  belongs: 
To  make  the  world  a  little  brighter, 
To  hail  the  Right,  condemn  the  Wrong, 
To  make  earth's  burden-bearing  lighter, 
Is  worthy  aim  of  th'  child  of  song. 


104  SING,    GI,AD   HEART 

Sing  songs  that  are  full  of  joy  and  gladness! 
Sing  songs  that  a  mission,  have,  indeed, 
In  a  world  so  prone  to  gloom  and  sadness, 
A  world  of  toil,  and  care,  and  need; 
Then  sing  of  "Clouds  with  silver  lining"; 
Some  clouds  must  be,  and  darkness,  some; 
Sing  on!  Some  heart  will  cease  repining; 
Some  heart  be  glad,  for  joy  is  come. 


Where  Shall  I  Write  Mi| 


Where  shall  I  write  my  name  with  care 
— So  that  the  letters  shall  perish  not  ? 
If,  on  the  sands,  sad  fate  they  share; 
— Quick  they  are  written — soon  forgot. 
Ruthless  the  billows,  storm-tossed  o'er; 
Hidden  the  marks  frail  fingers  have  made; 
Vanished  all  traces  from  that  shore; 
None  will  e'er  know  that  there  I  strayed. 


Carved  on  a  marble  slab,  my  name 
Might,  for  a  time,  perpetuate 
Mem'ry  of  deed,  or  deeds,  if  fame 
Warranted  facts,  and  place,  and  date. 
Yes,  "For  a  time,"  for  marble  fails 
Letters  to  keep  from  crumbling,  slow; 
Even  the  rocks,  erosion  assails; 
Doomed  to  destruction,  all  below. 


106       WHERE  SHA.1,1,   I  WRITE  MY  NAME 

Where  shall  I  write  my  name,  with  care  ? 
— So  that  the  letters  shall  perish  not? 
Ah!  In  the  hearts  of  men,  who  share, 
With  me,  my  birth-right — sons  of  God. 
Perish  the  sands  and  the  rocks  of  time! 
Hearts  will  not  die;  and  hearts  will  love! 
Then  let  my  life,  with  a  faith  sublime, 
Help  to  make  earth  like  heaven,  above. 


Let  th'  impulse  of  th'  life  be  graven 
On  th'  tablets  of  th'  hearts  of  men; 
Then  no  pow'r,  or  in  earth  or  in  heav'n 
Will  that  record  e'er  blot  out  again; 
Thus  let  my  name  be  written,  with  care, 
— So  that  the  letters  shall  perish  not; 
Then  shall  I  know  what  fate  they  share; 
Then  shall  I  know  I'm  ne'er  forgot. 


Tbe  BrigftfqiQd  of  the  Dawi)ii)4 


Of  the  bright'ning  of  the  dawning  of  a  better 

day; 
Of  th'  awakening  of  the  nations  of  the  wide, 

wide  world; 

Of  the  hast'ning  of  the  finding  of  a  better  way; 
That  the  battle-flags  of  the  people  shall  at  last 

be  furled — 


Of  the  passing  of  the  power  that  the  tyrant 
wields; 

Of  the  passing  of  the  blighting  that  perverts 
bring; 

Of  the  passing  of  Hell's  reaping  earth's  best 
harvest  fields; 

And,  "From  glory, "  still,  "To  glory, "  march 
ing  on,  we  sing — 


108    THE  BRIGHT'NING  OF  THE  DAWNING 

Of  the  coming,  speedy  coming,  of  the  rule  of 

right; 
Of  the  speeding,  universal,  of  blest  freedom's 

reign; 
Of  the  lifting  of  still  low 'ring  shades  of  earth's 

dark  night: 
And  the  bright'ning  of  the   mist-clouds   till 

they  meet  amain — 


Of  the  passing,  speedy  passing,  hate  of  broth 
erhood; 

Of  the  passing  of  dread  evils  whence  world- 
curses  spring; 

Of  the  passing,  speedy  passing,  hate  of  laws  of 
God; 

And  "From  Glory",  still  "To  Glory"  marching 
on,  we  sing, 


THE  BRIGHT'NING  OF  THE  DAWNING     109 

As  the  melting  mists  lift  up, 

Soon  to  vanish,  quite,  away, 

Let  the  faithful  watchman  say 

If  the  dawning  of  the  day  is  brighter; 

As  the  rifted  clouds  recede, 

Vanish,  quite,  in  the  world-affray, 

Let  the  sons  of  freedom  say 

If  the  hearts  of  men  are  lighter. 


Tis  Oplij  Opce  We  Pass  This  Wai| 


'Tis  only  once  we  pass  this  way; 

Nor  loiter,  as  we  go; 

We  only  pass;  we  can  not  stay: 

Not  left  to  doubt;  we  know; 

Swift,  with  the  days,  we  haste  along; 

The  days  are  numbered,  all; 

And,  whether  sorrow,  whether  song, 

No  day  can  we  recall. 


A  pilgrimage  so  quickly  o'er! 

Extremes  of  route  so  near! 

To  make  new  start  on  Other  Shore, 

With  vantage  gained,  while  here 

— If  vantage  ground,  indeed,  we  find, 

Along  the  way,  decreed; 

— If  darkest  clouds  are  silver-lined, 

And  beautiful,  indeed. 


WHEN   DREAM   ANGERS   HOVER  111 

Oh!  pilgrimage  with  beauty  fraught! 

And  love,  and  joy,  and  hope! 

For,  so,  hath  willed  the  Father,  God 

— If  man  will  but  look  up, 

And  out,  beyond  mere  mortal  goal, 

And  fit  for  other  sphere, 

Through  training  of  th'  immortal  soul 

With  heaven  in  view,  while  here. 


Drearp 


[lover 


When,  half  slumb'ring  the  eye-lids  are  closed, 
When  dream-angels  are  hovering  near, 
When  souls,  weary,  in  mem'ry,  awake 
To  dream-accents  that  fall  on  the  ear, 
Then,  sometimes,  the  sweet,  silvery  voices 
Carol  of  the  heart's  longings  of  yore; 
Of  life's  holiest  loves,  purest  joys; 
Of  blest  haunts  that  know  us  no  more. 


112  WHEN  DREAM-ANGELS  HOVER 

Then  are  friendships,  forgotten,  renewed, 
And  that  they  were  e'er  broken,  ignored; 
And  the  bonds  of  sweet  life  once  more  bind, 
And  affection's  bright  glow  is  restored. 
But,  sometimes,  of  the  present,  they  sing; 
In  refrain  on  refrain,  they  indulge; 
And,  if  others  could  hear  their  sweet  songs, 
They  would  blissful  life-secrets  divulge. 


But  the  future  demands  greater  share 

Of  the  themes  of  those  "Songs  in  the  night"; 

Whether  darkness,  or  brightness,  of  yore, 

Whether  life  be  filled  full  of  delight, 

To  the  future,  expectant,  we  look; 

The  fruition  of  hope  we  await; 

While  we  listen,  a  glimpse  we  may  catch 

Of  that  Other— that  "Glory's"— Estate. 


flfter  Darkness  pod 


Of  the  "Dark  Side,"  one  sang,  in  his  blindness; 

Thus  he  sought,  for  his  sorrows,  a  balm; 

To  forget  the  world's  slight,  and  unkindness, 

And  the  troubled,  worn  spirit  to  calm. 

As  the  wounded  bird's  wings  fail,  ere  long, 

Will  not  lift,  unless  gaining  new  strength, 

So,  to  him,  were  the  wings  of  sweet  song, 

Ere  he  found  what  his  need  was,  at  length. 

Then  he  sang  of  the  "Bright  Side",  and,  lo! 
They  that  heard  said  such  song  they  loved  best; 
— That  they  loved  to  forget  all  earth's  woe; 
— That  'tis  thus  the  worn  spirit  finds  rest. 
After  darkness,  find  brightness  again; 
Oh,  be  glad!  gladness  is  for  the  soul 
Heavenward  bound;  fitting,  now,  for  the  Then, 
Where  the  "Years  of  eternity  roll!" 


ii)  the  Ni 


Songs  in  the  night,  the  Spirit  e'er  giveth 

Them  that  do  trust  in  Him,  then; 

Songs  of  high  praise  unto  Him  that  e'er  liveth 

— Mighty  One,  Saviour  of  Men; 

Kindly,  the  Light,  the  way-marks  revealing, 

Bidding  the  heart  to  be  strong; 

Soreness  profound,  so  gently,  He's  healing; 

— Giveth  He,  then,  a  song. 


There  are  no  psalms  that  lift  up  to  Heaven 
Like  the  low  chants  in  the  night; 
Psalms  unto  anguish-stricken  ones  given, 
Trusting,  and  waiting  for  light; 
There  are  no  songs,  the  soul's  need  expressing, 
Like  the  sweet  songs  in  the  night; 
Chariots  of  praise,  High  Heaven  addressing, 
Songs  of  the  loftiest  flight. 


Mil  Mother's  Sop<j? 


If  Mother  were  with  me  now,  once  more, 
The  songs  that  she  loved,  I'd  sing  them  o'er 
Again  and  again,  her  heart  to  cheer, 
And  brighten  her  days  therewith,  while  here. 
Though    lowered    the     skies,     and     darkness 

reigned, 

Of  silver-lined  clouds,  with  joy  unfeigned, 
She  sang  on,  and  waited  patiently, 
And  looked  for  a  brighter  day  to  be. 


Of  Treasures  and  Mansions  fair,  she  sang; 
With  songs  full  of  cheer,  her  home-haunts  rang, 
With  a  faith  that  made  bright  the  weary  day, 
Till  sorrow  and  sadness  fled  away. 
Or  sunshine,  or  gloom,  or  smiles,  or  tears. 
She  sang  her  sweet  songs,  all  through  the  years; 
Of  hope's  sweet  fruition,  chanted  low, 
— "By    and  by    "Twill    be    Summer-time,'    I 
know." 


Lost— 


I  saw  a  fellow  traveler, 
Whose  feet  had  gone  astray; 
Who  thought  to  live  the  happier, 
Without  the  Narrow  Way. 
The  Way  he  found,  to  him,  seemed  best; 
— "With  roses  strewn,"  he  said! 
Though  sometimes  sore  was  he  distress'd, 
And  bitter  tears  he  shed! 


The  light  of  earth  shone  on  that  Way, 

But  only  earthly  light; 

For,  at  the  end,  there  comes  no  Day, 

But  everlasting  Night 

I  shouted,  "Lo!  O  Traveler!— 

The  Way  thou  goest  is  broad; 

The  Way  thou  shouldst  is  narrower, 

But  leadeth  up!— to  God! 


IMMORTALITY  117 

Sadly  he  gazed  upon  that  Way 

That  leadeth  up,  afar, 

Bright,  in  the  beams  from  blissful  Day 

That  burst  from  "Gates  ajar": 

— Then  cried,  "O  soul!  why  still  delay? 

Why  still  with  Heav'n  at  war?" 

— Then   sought    the    Cross; — Then   sought  to 
pray; 

— Then  found  his  Saviour,  there. 


Iipnjortalitij 


Of  immortal  life,  of  immortal  love, 
Of  immortal  joy,  oh,  sing  to  me! 

No  more   fevered  breath;    no  more   pain,    or 
death; 

Naught  but  blest  employ,  eternally! 

No  more  lonely  hours;  no  more  wasted  powers; 

No  more  bitter  thought  of  failure,  past! 

No  more  anguish,  deep;  no  more  troubled  sleep; 

— Done — the  battles  fought — the  first,  and  last. 


Be  KM  in  tbe  Mori)ip4  flours 


Hast  often  wished  some  word  that  passed, 

In  the  morning, 

Had  kindlier  been,  to  those  thine  own, 

And  more  cheering  ? 

Hast  often  wished  some  petulance, 

Lip  of  scorning, 

Had  not  spoiled  the  charm  that  should  have  been 

More  endearing  ? 


With  look,  or  tone,  vex  not  thine  own, 

In  the  morning — 

On  the  quiet  evening's  kiss  of  peace, 

Though,  depending; 

The  thoughtless  word,  impatient  look, 

Air  of  scorning — 

Oh!  spare  thine  own  such  morning-cloud, 

Pain  attending. 


Tbe  Sopcj  of  Soutbett)  California* 


"0  Land  of  the  Lote  Tree!" 

—Prescott. 


I  love  the  "Land  of  the  Lote  Tree": 

No  other  was  e'er  so  dear  to  me; 

No  other  sky  ever  seemed  so  bright, 

Or  breeze  health-laden,  both  day  and  night: 

No  other  seas  are  so  peaceful,  all; 

No  other  tides  do  so  little  appall; 

No  other  havens  so  friendly,  grand; 

No  other  shores  like  this  sunset  strand. 


No  other  mounts  so  with  th'  heav'ns  at  one; 
No  other  hills,  such,  beneath  the  sun; 
No  other  vales  do  with  these  compare; 
No  other  plains,  so  inviting,  are: 

*(Sheei  Music — Song  and  piano  ace. 
Albert  Malson,  San  Diego,  Cat.) 


THE  SONG  OF  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA      120 

I  love  the  scenes  of  this  land,  so  fair; 
I  love  its  flow'rs,  and  its  fruits,  so  rare; 
I  love  the  caves  of  La  Jolla's  Beach; 
I  love  the  hills  of  long  Loma's  reach. 

I  love  to  roam  through  these  canons,  wild, 

As  if  I  were  once  again  a  child; 

I  love  to  stroll  midst  the  orchards  bloom, 

Where  the  waters  come  from  the  mountain's 
flume: 

I  love  to  stand  on  these  mountains,  high, 
And  note  how  they  to  th'  sea  seem  nigh; 
I  love  to  stand,  gazing  o'er  this  sea, 
When  thinking  of  immortality. 

O  "Land  of  the  Lote  Tree!" 
Blest  land!  Thou  art  dear  to  me! 

O  "South-land",  so  fair!  Of  thee  I  sing! 

— May'st  thou  e'er  blest  be! 


Wfjep  6aziix}  O'er  tbe  Sea 


Sometimes,  when  gazing  o'er  the  sea, 

It  seems  so  very  near! 

But,  sometimes,  seems  afar  to  be, 

And,  sometimes,  dread,  and  drear! 

Not  so,  to  me,  eternity; — 

I  know  I'm  near  that  shore; 

I  wait  for  immortality, 

— A  Peace-land,  evermore. 


For  th'  storms  that  beat  upon  these  shores 

Shall  spend  their  fury  here; 

Dread  cloud  that  rolls,  dread  sea  that  roars, 

No  counterpart,  have,   There: 

I  fix  my  gaze  upon  that  Shore, 

And  wonder  when  shall  be 

Dread  clouds,  no  more;  dread  seas,   no  more; 

Dread  storms  no  more — to  buffet  me. 


Or> 


A  traveler,  most  wearily, 

Had  climbed  the  height,  half  way, 

And  there  he  paused — to  view  the  sight; 

— To  breathe  his  life  away  ? 

Alone,  he  came — alone,  and  sad; 

Yet,  cheerful,  and  resigned; 

He  came  from  far-off  native  land 

— A  mountain  tomb  to  find? 

Renewal  of  the  lease  of  life, 

In  South-land  clime,  had  sought; 

The  cancer  gnawed  still  steadily, 

Until  its  work  was  wrought: 

And,  now, he  sought  a  friendly  rock, 

On  which  to  rest,  at  last; 

To  lay  him  down;  his  hands  to  clasp; 

His  eyes  to  Heav'n  to  cast. 

*The  San  Miguel  of  San  Diego  County,  California- 
twelve  miles  from  the  sea. 


ON  MT.    SAN  MIGTJEI,  123 

A  hermit  hunter  chanced  to  be 

Among  the  rocks,  just  there; 

Strange  sounds  he  heard — a  living  voice; 

A  voice  engaged  in  prayer: 

— "My  God,  I  know  not  if  it  be 

That  now  my  journey's  o'er; 

If  I,  at  last,  thy  face,  shall  see, 

And  stand,  thy  throne,  before." 


He  ceased.     The  sun  shone  bright;  the  sky 

Was  beautiful,  that  day; 

And  gentle  breezes,  from  sweet  flow'rs, 

Rich  fragrance  brought  that  way; 

The  sea  seemed  calm,  and  very  near; 

The  day  was  won'droiis  bright; 

And,  to  the  resting  traveler, 

It  was  a  beauteous  sight. 


124  ON  MT.    SAN  MIGUEI, 

The  Coronados,  midst  the  mists 
Now  gath'ring,  far  away, 
Sea-sentinels,  stood,  silent,  there, 
Gray  guardians  of  the  bay; 
And,  over  them,  the  sun  now  passed; 
And  wond'rous  gleamed  the  sea, 
Between  those  islands  and  the  shore, 
Near  where  these  mountains  be. 


And  pretty  valleys  nestled  there, 

In  sight  of  San  Miguel; 

And,  though  'twas  winter-season,  now, 

Were  clad  in  verdure,  still: 

The  rocks  seemed  almost  warm  that  day; 

The  honey-bee  was  there; 

Inviting  was  that  mountain-side; 

And  friendly,  too,  the  air. 


ON  MT.    SAN  MIGUEX  125 


The  hermit  silently  drew  near, 
Perchance,  some  aid  to  give; 
And  listened.     Then  the  traveler 
Exclaimed,  "And  shall  I  live 
Another  day,  this  scene  to  view  ? 
Ah  I  soon  the  night  will  come, 
And,  ere  another  beauteous  morn 
Shall  dawn,  shall  I  go  Home  ?" 


"Ah,  home! — at  last! — to  be  at  home! 

What  word  like  that  to  me  ? 

When  love,  and  peace,  and  joy  are  there, 

How  sweet  at  home  to  be! 

If  thus,  while  here,  in  mortal  frame, 

What  must  th"  immortals  see, 

Safe  dwelling  on  the  'Golden  Shore'? 

— Home  of  Eternity!'1'' 


126  ON  MT.    SAN  MIGUEI. 

"Home  of  my  childhood! — Mother's  love! 
— And  Sisters'  gentle  care! 
Can  I  forget  thai  shelter,  dear, 
What  e'er  the  bliss  I  share? 
Can  I  forget,  when  Mother  went, 
And  left  her  babes  with  me, 
How  sweet  the  privilege,  at  home, 
With  Mother's  babes,  to  be  ?" 


"Can  I  forget,  though  poverty 

Was  sometimes  bitter,  then, 

How  I,  by  diligence,  prepared 

A  place — my  home  ? — but  when  ? 

For  Love  had  come; — then  bade  me  wait; 

— And  bade  me  wait — and  wait! 

— O  God! — then  left  me  to  my  fate. " 

*        *        *      "Love  came  not. "      *         *        * 


ON  MT.    SAN  MIGUEL  127 

"And  vine,  and  shrub,  and  tree  grew  fast, 

In  size  and  loveliness; 

And  green,  the  grass;  and  sweet,  the  flow'rs; 

— But,  ah,  the  loneliness! 

The  hopelessness!  the  homelessness! 

— Then,  giv'n  to  me,  what  grace, 

To  bear  my  spirit  up!  ah,  me!" 

*        *        *      "Love  came  not "      *        *        * 


"I  cried  to  Heaven,  in  my  distress, 

'O  Father,  lift  me  up; 

Help  me  to  drink,  if  drink  I  must, 

This  bitter,  bitter  cup 

Right  manfully;  and  then  go  forth, 

My  mission  to  fulfill, 

If  there  is  aught  for  me  to  do. '  " 

*        *        *      "Love  came  not. '*      * 


128  ON  MT.    SAN  MIGUEL 

"Yes,  one,  and  then  another,  came; 

But  'twas  not  Love — to  stay! 

—  Work!  work  I  could;  and  work  I  would; 

— Oft-times  both  night  and  day; 

Till  men  proclaimed  success  had  come, 

In  measure,  large.     To  me, 

How  small  the  measure  of  success!" 

*        *        *      "Love  came  not. "      *        * 


"Friends,  some,  were  near;  friends,  some,  were 
dear; 

Some,  ever  faithful,  too; 

For  friendship  is,  sometimes,  so  strong, 

It  lasts  the  journey  through; 

But  few,  indeed,  were  such  to  me; 

The  many  soon  forgot: 

A  friend!  how  sweet  true  friendship  is!" 

*        *        *      "Love  came  not. "      *        *        * 


ON  MT.    SAN  MIGUEL  129 

"But  I  still  higher  heights  must  climb; 

Still  on;  success;  must  win; 

The  joy  of  service  e'er  increased; 

Increased  was  peace,  within; 

And  Love  Divine  new  love  awoke 

In  my  much  suff'ring  heart; 

And  made  me  strong  to  bear  my  lot." 

*        *        *      "Love  came  not. "      *        *        * 


'  'No,  never  could  I  quite  forget, 
Suppress  those  longings,  quite; 
And,  sure  as  thought  of  heaven  came, 
Came  this — do  what  I  might 
— That  life  is  not  a  full  success: 
That,  loss;  that  need;  that  pain; 
That  void;  I  could  not,  e'er,  forget." 
*        *        *      '  'Love  came  not. ' '      * 


130  ON  MT.    SAN  MIGUEI, 

"I  strove: — too  much  for  flesh  and  blood! 

I  could  but  suffer  much; 

And  yet  I  strove,  right  on,  to  press — 

With  God  and  man  in  touch. 

At  last  they  said  that  I  was  ill, 

That  I  must  shortly  die; 

Must  die  ?'  I  cried  to  Heav'n;   'God  will, 

I'll  even  death  defy!'  " 


'  'Then  traversed  many  a  valley  fair, 
And  many  a  mountain  range; 
And  came,  at  last,  to  th'  mesa,  there, 
Where  all  is  wildly  strange; 
Where  I  could  hear  the  ocean's  roar; 
View  peaks  of  mountains,  high; 
And  valleys  nestled  all  among 
The  foot-hills,  'bout  me,  nigh." 


ON  MT.    SAN  MIGUEL  131 

"And  there  a  solitary  life 

I  led  for  many  a  day; 

On  mountain-side,  or  foot-hill  high, 

I'd  pass  the  hours  away: 

The  flowers,  beauteous  carpets,  spread; 

The  birds  sweet  sang  to  me; 

And  Nature  seemed  conspiring,  all, 

My  present  help  to  be. ' ' 


"A  hermitage; — mere  waiting  place, 

For  better  days  to  come; 

To  gaze,  from  thence,  far  o'er  the  sea, 

And  think  of  Heav'n,  as  Home; 

Oft,  retrospectively,  to  dwell 

On  th'  joys  of  th'  long  ago; 

And  then  compare  mere  mortal  joys 

With  th'  joys  th'  immortals  know." 


132  ON   MT.    SAN   MIGUEt 

"To-day,  I  thought  to  climb  the  mount, 

And  gaze  away,  far,  o'er 

This  sea,  that  seems  to  separate 

Me  from  the  'Farther  Shore": 

My  strength  is  gone;  but  I  am  glad 

I  clambered  up  so  far: 

And  see!  o'erhead,  in  heav'n's  blue  vault, 

Appears  one  shining  star  !" 


"The  night  draws  near;  but  yet  the  sun 

O'er  Loma's  heights  I  see; 

A  privilege! — to  see,  once  more, 

The  sun  set  gloriously! 

Once  more  behold  the  beauteous  sight 

Of  mountain,  bay,  and  sea, 

At  sunset!  Oh,  how  wonderful! 

How  glorious,  tome!" 


ON  MT.    SAN  MIGUEI,  133 

"The  mounts  of  Mexico  are  there; 

The  San  Jacintos,  there; 

And  there  the  Cuyamaca  stands, 

High,  camel-backed,  and  bare; 

And  numerous  nestling  valleys,  too; 

—  (Sweetwater;  El  Cajon) ; 

So  fair,  from  hence,  to  look  upon! 

So  fruitful,  every  one!" 


" But,  ah,  the  sea!  the  wondrous  sea! 

— The  sun  o'er  Loma's  tower! 

What  perch,  like  this,  in  all  the  world. 

At  this,  the  sunset  hour  ? 

Oh,  gorgeous  scene!  Oh,  golden  clouds!''1 

*    *    *    Night.     The  moon  mounts  high; 

The  stars,  in  constellations,  now, 

Bright  glimmer  in  the  sky. 


134  ON  MT.    SAN  MIGUEL 

The  silence  is  oppressive,  quite; 
So  still!  so  very  still! 
See!  o'er  his  weary,  prostrate  frame, 
A  tremor  comes; — a  chill  ! 
"  'Mongst boulders!"  *  *  *  "On  (his  mountain 
side/" 

"Im  ill!"  *  *  *  "On  San  Miguel!" 
"O,  God!"  *  *  *  "Be  with  me,  now,  I  pray!" 
"God' swill  be  done!"  *    *  "God's 


AT  THE  CALLING  OF  THE  ROLL 


A  loyal,  stalwart,  citizen,  and  brave, 

They  bade  me  be,  in  early  youth; 

To  stand  for  liberty;  for  truth; 

An  advocate  of  every  right  God  gave 

To  man;  aggressive;  true;  with  record  clear; 

— At  th'  calling  of  the  roll,  to  say,  "Here!" 


They  bade  me  my  companions,  too,  to  lead 

In  th'  path  of  true  nobility; 

To  urge,  in  all  sincerity, 

That  they  should  consciencious  be;  to  plead, 

Like  Paul,  the  highest  aim; 

— "A  gloria  ad  gloriam!" 


136          AT  THE  CALLING  OF  THE  ROU. 

I  found  th'  estate  of  manhood  frail,  and  prone 

To  selfishness,  'mong  men,  and  sin: 

And,  yet,  true  principle,  within, 

Was  firm  established;  th'  law  of  love: 

A  sure  and  firm  foundation,  there! 

— At  th'  calling  of  the  roll,  to  say,  "Here!" 


Then,  how  with  fellow  men  to  plead  the  best 

For  character  and  worth,  I  strove 

To  learn;  th'  attention  gain;  and  th'  heart  to 

move; 

And  dalliance  with  Law  and  Grace  t'  arrest: 
To  leave  men  low,  Grace  never  came! — 
—  "A  gloria  ad  gloriam!" 


A  hydra-headed  Monster  stalked  abroad; 
Insatiate;  that  man  a  slave 
Of  man  might  be,  permission  gave! 
Despised,  defied  the  Higher  Law  and  God! 
Hell  raged! — God  reigned! — Men  paled!  I,  there 
— At  th'  calling  of  the  roll — said,  "Here!" 


AT  THE  CALLING  OF  THE  ROLL          137 

Men,  God  raised  up,  and  mighty  men,  the  pen, 
With  pow'r,  to  wield;  bade  some  in  pulpit  stand 
And  thunder,  there,  that  this  blest  land, 
At  last,  should  own  the  brotherhood  of  men: 
Then,  on,  and  on,  in  Freedom's  name; 
— "A  gloria  ad  gloriam!" 

Then,  through  the  land  was  heard  the  cry,  "To 

arms!" 

To  quick  response  men's  hearts  were  moved, 
To  save  the  Country  that  they  loved; 
And,    to  the  front  pushed  fast,    'midst  war's 

alarms. 

And  I,  the  fate  of  war  to  share 
— At  th'  calling  of  the  roll,  said,  "Here!" 

— "Take  up  the  Christ's-Man's  Burden,"  then! 

— Hark! — "As  He  died  to  make  holy, 

Let  us  die  to  make  men  free, 

As  we  go  marching  on!" — sing  armed  men! 

And,  'til  they  make  the  welkin  ring, 

Their  ..."Glory,  glory,  hallelujah!"...  sing. 


138          AT  THE  CALLING  OF  THE  ROLL 

Not  only  men  well  trained  to  arms,  but  men 

Of  every  calling  found  a  place 

In  line; — and  thought  it  no  disgrace 

To  bear  the  name  of  soldier; — noble,  then! 

And  never  had  such  worth,  as  there, 

— At  th'  calling  of  the  roll — said,  "Here!" 

The  clash  of  arms  'tween  mighty  armies  came; 
Battalions  melted  like  the  frost! 
But  on,  regardless  of  the  cost! 
Ah!  men  came  to  think  it  much  a  shame 
That  blood  should  make  a  diff'rence,  then! 
— Though    held    as  serfs,    surely,    serfs   were 
men! 

And  bondmen,  then,  their  freedom  gain'd  at 

last! 

What  blood  the  veins  of  loyal  men 
Did  course,  it  mattered  nothing,  then, 
To  us;  and  thousands,  ere  the  die  was  cast, 
Who,  by  decree,  now  freedmen  were 
— At  th'  calling  of  the  roll — said,  "Here!" 


AT  THE  CAtUNG  OF  THE  ROI,I<          139 

The  war  went  on — such  cruel  war!  and  blood 
And  fearful  carnage  held  full  sway! 
How  deep  the  meaning  of  th'  affray! 
What  destiny  in  th'  balance  hung!  O  God! 
What  shall  the  final  outcome  be  ? 
What  now,  of  human  liberty  ? 

A  Country  saved!  A  Monster  slain!  But,  oh! 

Such  sacrifice!     Such  penalty 

For  wrong  so  long  allowed  to  be! 

Alas!  The  slain!  So  many  lives  laid  low! 

Some  say  a  million,  again,  that  ne'er 

— At  th'  calling  of  the  roll —  said,  "Here!" 

'Twas  done — and  so  much  blood  and  treasure 

giv'n 

To  th'  cause  of  human  liberty! 
— The  conflict  o'er,  fraternity 
And  peace,  prosperity,  'neath  the  smile  of 

Heav'n, 

The  world,  astonished,  saw,  and  said, 
"Well  done!" — But  we  can  ne'e'r  forget  our 

dead! 


140          AT  THE  CALLING  OF  THE 


What  truth  and  trend  the  Country  saved,   is 
plain; 

What  principles  enforcement  found; 
Why  this;  why  thus;  upon  what  ground; 
—  And  what  shall  save,  if  e'er  again  —  Again? 
Ah,  me!  What  shall  I  say  of  an  again  ? 

Aye,  what?  —  Be  true,  my  heart!    Be  quick,  my 
pen! 

'Tis  not  Reform,  God  counted  out!  —  and  love! 

Not  plans,  for  fancied  human  weal, 

Of  such  as  neither  know,  nor  feel, 

The  pressing  needs  of  men!  —  nor  rise  above 

Pow'rs  narrow  view;  greed's  selfish  aim; 

The  strife  for  place;  the  love  of  fame! 

'Tis  not  "The   White  Man's  burden!"  No,  not 

such! 

Not  prestige  such,  but  principle! 
Not  tow'ring  might,  but  jiistice,  full! 
Not  blood  and  cultured  intellect,  so  much, 
But  what  shall  best  all  men  prepare  — 
At  th'  calling  of  the  roll  —  to  say,  "Here!" 


AT  THE   CALLING   OP  THE  ROI.I,          141 

It  is  "The  Christ's-Man's  burden",  understood, 

And  taken  up  right  manfully, 

By  th'  Nation;  consecratedly, 

For  God  and  universal  brotherhood: 

Columbia,  thus,  shall  on,  to  fame; 

— "A  gloria  ad  gloriam!" 


II. 

Shall  I  forget  that  Monster  Pow'r,  and  dread, 
Called  Rum  ? — when  I  my  Country's  weal 
Would  urge  ?    Can  I  his  strength  reveal  ? 
Can  I  e'er  tell  the  numbers  of  Rum's  dead 
That  'mong  my  countrymen  are  found  ? 
— In  this  blest  land!   This!  Freedom'1  s  ground! 


142          AT  THE  CALLING  OF  THE  ROLL 

Commissioned,  that  fell  Monster  is,  of  hell, 
To  rule  and  ruin  this  fair  land; 
— To  rule,  when  men  do  not  withstand, 
And  rout;  To  ruin,  if  not  rule,  as  well; 
Hell-sent  home-spoiler;  slaves  to  find 
In  every  haunt  of  human  kind! 

Wise  men,   and  good,   that  "Rum  must  go", 

declare. 

In  some  bright  spots,  the  church,  I  saw 
Join  with  Reformers;  frame  a  law; 
Decree  of  State;  To  banish  Rum  for  e'er. 
Wise  men  became  Reformers,  there! 
— At  th'  calling  of  the  roll,  said,  "Here!" 

And  then  I  saw  the  angry  play  of  fools! 
The  spite,  the  hate,  the  enmity 
Of  men  of  good  fraternity, 

Who  thought  Reformers  trained  in  half-truth 
schools 

Of  vicious,  weak,  philosophy! 
Shirked,  such,  aggressive  policy! 


AT  THE   GAINING   OF  THE   ROH  143 


(How  prone  the  church  to  leave  the  "highways 

and 

The  hedges"  —  the  "common  people's"  haunts  — 
Behind!  —  forgetting      "common      people's" 

wants  — 
To  climb   some    eminence    their    own;    some 

grand 

Imposing  pile,  to  build,  that  high 
O'erlooks  the  homes  of  th'  low-lands,  nigh! 

Surround  '  'our  set'  '  with  things  of  show,  and 

dwell 

Serenely,  spite  of  all  the  woe 
The  neighb'ring  struggling  masses  know, 
Through  Rum!    ignoring  quite,  this  Monster, 

fell! 

Or,  witnessing  in  silent  mood! 
—  Say?  are  such  hands  deep-dyed  in  blood  ? 


—  Methinks,  sometimes,  that  such  as  they,  alas! 
Would  have  no  use  for  Christ,  to-day! 
They'd  say,  "Reformer!"  —  "Hell  to  pay!" 
If  He  should  pass  their  way,   they'd  let  Him 
pass! 

If  He  should  call,  they'd  turn  away! 

If  at  th'  church  door,  they'd  say  Him,  "Nay!") 


144       AT  THE  GAINING  OF  THE 


'Twas  lost!  —  the  opportunity  —  near  th'  whole 
Of  this  fair  land,  from  Rum,  to  save! 
And  sad  th'  example,  too,  we  gave 
To  every  land  on  earth,  from  pole  to  pole! 
Ah!  sad  that,  then,  so  few  there  were, 

—  At  th'  calling  of  the  roll  —  to  say,  "Here!" 

Yes,    "Rum   must  go!"  —  still   wise   men   say; 
Alas! 

Rum  does  not  go!  —  But  stalks,  and  grows! 
In  th'  State,  in  pow'r  politic,  and  knows 

In  th'  Church,  right  well,  what  first  must  come 
to  pass! 

—  That  th'  conscience  must  awakened  be; 
That  righteousness  brings  liberty. 

Reforms  must  wait.     For  what?    For  men  — 
set  free 

From  tyrrany  of  party  pow'r; 

Of  compromise,  it  is  the  hour; 

The  people  do  not  rule,  to-day!  nor  see 

Nor  understand  how  largely  they 

Are  figures,  mere,  in  th'  puppet-play 


AT  THE;  GAINING  OF  THE  ROU,        145 

Called  politics!   When  th'  people  th'  rulers,  be, 
—  (That  day  must  hasten,  now, 
When  th'  Free  no  more  to  th'  Boss  will  bow!) 
When  th'  laws  of  God — of  right — of  liberty — 
Free  course  have  found — then  loud  th'  acclaim 
— "A  gloria  ad  gloriam!" 


III. 

Despair  not!    Th'  expectant  millions  know  not 

what 

They  seek — they  seek  a  way — some  way! — 

And  wait  a  brighter,  better,  day; — 

Some  change  in  citizen-giv'n  rights,  and  not 

A  war-sped  revolution,  such 

As,  th'  thought  of  which,  men  dread  so  much. 


146          AT  THE  CALLING  OF  THE  ROLL 

Think  out  that  way,  ye  men  of  thought,   and 
wise! 

Some  change  of  constitution  giv'n, 
Respecting  legislation;  ev'n 

Just  this; — A  change  through  which  all  com 
promise 

May  relegated,  be,  to  th'  past! 

— Men  voting  for  what  they  want,  at  last! 


IV. 

Then  haste  that  universally  needed  day! 
Th'  people  to  say  if  evils,  great, 
Shall  gnaw  at  the  vitals  of  the  State! 
Columbia  may  lead,  should  lead  the  way! 
Then  every  nation  of  the  earth, 
To  find  that  way,  will  hasten  forth. 


AT  THE  CALLING  OF  THE  ROU,          147 

Come  then,  vast  empires,  crownless,  great; 
The  people  their  own  emperor; 
And  peace  prevail,  and  no  more  war 
'Twixt  Christian  lands,  for  greed  or  passion  to 

create; 

Discharged,  th'  affairs  of  State,  by  men 
The  servants  of  the  people,  then! 

My  Countrymen!     Look  for  the  time  when  fell 

Monopoly — greed  organized — 

Great  syndicates,  by  hell  devised, 

On  principles  that  righteous  ways  forestall 

— Shall  relegated,  be,  to  th'  past! 

— When  righteous  laws  obtain,  at  last! 

When  th'  laws  of  man  comport  with  th'  laws  of 

God; 

With  God-giv'n  rights  of  fellow  man; 
With  th'  privilege,  true,  of  th'  citizen; 
When  Legislators  ne'er  shall  christen  fraud 
' 'Necessity!" — "Best  policy!" — 
"The  route  to  real  prosperity!" 


148          AT  THE  CALLING   OF  THE   ROLL 

And  Rum?    What  of   that   Beast,    the  hydra- 
headed  ? 

The  "Trinity  of  principles" — 
(Free  men,  free  Bible,  and  free  schools,)  — 
Has  found  a  place  in  National  heart,  embedded, 
To  that  extent  there's  no  recession; 
Demands  the  full,  complete,  possession. 


'Tis  incompleteness  troubles  now,  and  has; 

'Tis  misconception;  (So,  misrule;) 

And  lack  of  conscience,  pitiful! 

A  lack  of  holy  love  for  righteous  laws; 

Aggressive  consecration,  too, 

In  all  that  have  with  Rum  to  do. 


AT  THE  CALLING  OF  THE  ROLL          149 

V. 

O    Comrades,    dear!      Each    duty    bids,     "Do 

well!" 

If  onward,  yet,  our  "time's  career," 
(E'n  though,  with  us,  the  leaf  is  sere, 
Still  we  our  times  may  serve,   while  here  we 

dwell,) 

May  God  yet  spare  us  many  a  year; 
— At  th'  calling  of  the  roll,  to  say,  "Here!" 


And  when,  in  th'  coming  years,   they  call  our 

name, 

To  laud  our  loyalty,  our  love 
Of  native  land,  so,  thus,  to  move 
The  heart  of  loyal  sons,   and  fan  to  warmer 

flame, 

Be  this  our  undisputed  fame 
— "A  gloria  ad  gloriam!" 


150          AT  THE  GAINING  OF  THE  ROLL 

VI. 

And,   as  for  us, — when   we're    "relieved  from 

duty," 
Giv'n   our    "discharge"    from   th'    "rank  and 

file,"— 

In  th'  record  we  have  made,  the  while, 
May  we've  exemplified  th'  life,  th'  death,  th' 

beauty, 

Of  those  prepared  for  the  "Up  There!" 
— At  Eternity's  reveille,  to  say,  "Here!" 


And,  oh!    we  know  that  those  whose  highest 

aim 

Has  been  each  duty,  well,  to  do, 
(And  duty  change  to  principle,  too, ) 
Increasing  blessedness  may  claim; 
(If  right  with  Heav'n,  two  worlds  the  same, ) 
— "A  gloria  ad  gloriant!" 


INDEX 

PAGE 

A  Dream 39 

After  Darkness 113 

At  the  Calling  of  the  Roll 135 

Bear  Thy  Cross 90 

Bells  of  Angels 70 

Be  Kind  in  the  Morning  Hours   ....  118 

Compelled 70 

Doing      43 

Elfelfa 33 

Environment 47 

Ebb  and  Flow 63 

Eternity      84 

Growing  Old 51 

Golden  Glimpses 101 

If  I  Should  Fall      46 

Immortality 117 

Like  Loma's  Light 52 

Lost— Saved      116 

Music 57 

My  Brother  and  I 76 

My  Country's  Conscience 85 

My  Loved  One  Told  Me  So 99 

My  Mother's  Songs 115 

New  Year's  Morning 42 

No  Vested  Interest 69 

Opportunity 54 

On  Mt.   San  Miguel 122 


Realized 56 

Song  (Patriotic) 26 

Sometimes  Yours,  But  Always  You  ...  87 

Shoulder  to  Shoulder 91 

Sweet  Release 93 

Sing  of  the  Bright  Side 94 

Sing!   Glad  Heart  .    .    103 

Songs  in  the  Night 115 

Sleeps,  Columbia 31 

The  Captain's  Color  Capture      14 

The  Soul's  Summer  Solstice 55 

Think  it  Out 65 

The  Life 62 

The  Goal 67 

The  Man  Without  the  Hoe 73 

Three  Views 79 

Two  Hits 82 

The  Shriek  I  Heard 88 

The  Worn  Spirit 90 

The  Creed 92 

The  Immortals'  Chantings 69 

To-morrow  is  Another  Day 97 

The  Bright'ning  of  the  Dawning     .    .    .  107 

'Tis  Only  Once  We  Pass  This  Way    .    .  110 

The  Song  of  Southern  California     ...  119 

When  Gazing  O'er  This  Sea 121 

Where  Shall  I  Write  My  Name?     ...  105 

Why  Tolls  the  Bell?      59 

Who  Builds?  50 


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